


After

by lunaillumina



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Background Relationships, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2019-07-17 11:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16094972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaillumina/pseuds/lunaillumina
Summary: The game is over, and Saihara Shuichi struggles to deal with what comes after.





	1. Aftermath

_“How are you feeling today?”_

Saihara Shuichi casted his eyes to an empty spot on the marbled floor, shifting ever so slightly on the sofa threatening to sink his lower half. He swallowed audibly despite the dryness of his throat, panic slowly coursing through his veins as he realized how much time it took for him to respond to a simple question. His finger twitched, overcome by the muscle memory of bringing it over to his head to tip an invisible cap that should’ve been there.

_“Saihara-kun?”_

The soft voice calling out his name interrupted his train of thoughts, bringing him back to _reality_. Finally raising his head, a welcoming gaze greeted him with a hint of concern. He almost whipped his head away to stare at the interesting nothingness of whatever his eyes decided to land on, but the cerulean orbs fixated on him locked his gaze down. It took several agonizing seconds before he finally admitted that he was undeniably out of it.

_“I-I’m fine. Sorry. I keep getting distracted.”_ Even the words came out of him stumbling. He closed his eyes, a feeble attempt to recollect himself, but immediately regretted it as his consciousness blinked along with him. Just how many hours—days of sleep had he missed ever since then?

The sound of friction between pen and paper reached his ears. He pried his eyelids open, rubbing hard with his fingers. They definitely weren’t this heavy when he was lying down on his bed last night.

_“Okay, I think that’s enough for today.”_ The sudden finality of the tone cut through the roots of slumber wrapping around him, waking him effectively albeit only for a moment.

_“Eh?”_ He gawked at the warm smile directed at him. _“I just got here...”_

_“Yes, but you’re obviously exhausted.”_ Damn, she’s good. _“Physically, mentally, emotionally.”_ She enumerated slowly, as if simply reciting the numerous defects on a damaged product.

Saihara let his weight settle down on the quicksand that is the couch, sinking deeper. A metaphor of how he was rapidly failing to focus on staying awake.

_“Besides, I’m against holding a session this soon and **this** early in the morning, but you know...” _ She trailed off into silence, the words and intentions all left out in ambiguity. Saihara—barely conscious—understood. _“How about two weeks from now?”_

If he had at least half of his bearings at the moment, he would’ve minded how fast he nodded at the suggestion. It wasn’t like him to be so eager and easy, after all. Then again, the whole point of it was to determine what he **_was_** like.

The farewell was a blur of blue orbs and warm smiles. It was surreal. So was his trip back “home” in the car. As much as he would like to entertain the interesting possibilities that came with the thought of him walking back in his current state, he wasn’t exactly feeling imaginative at the moment.

Returning to “his” house, he went straight to “his” room, changed “his” clothes, and lied on “his” bed.

A shattered, clear sky flashed through his eyes as all sense of consciousness left him.

* * *

 Awareness stayed despite the sudden darkness that closed in on him. It lasted for a few minutes, leaving him to hypothesize that maybe what he was experiencing was death. One moment he was staring up at the bright blue sky along with Harukawa and Yumeno, and then all of a sudden his senses shut down. The whole experience didn't really leave him much to ponder on or work with to come up with answers. Just pure nothingness.

When he acquired the faint feeling of being able to move the muscles in his eyes, he wasted no time in seizing the opportunity and opened them. He expected to feel the strain that came whenever he opens his eyes too quickly after a long, deep slumber, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, he felt oddly normal, his vision readjusting from a blur to one of clarity. Still not entirely convinced that what he was currently experiencing was indeed his inevitable death, the Super Highschool Level Detective attempted to investigate.

He was still seeing black but it pales in comparison to the one he previously encountered. Like a faded copy of its former glory. Next was the rest of his body. As if afraid he'll hurt himself, he tried to slowly flex his fingers, succeeding at moving them freely when the feeling of wetness registered through him. Water? Where was he?

His consciousness skyrocketed, the former calmness all but forgotten as he tried to move his limbs all at once. He was lying down, that much was obvious. The space he was currently in was limited, yet not enough to suffocate movement. Water splashed ever so slightly around him, but not all over him. So it was shallow.

Glows of purple suddenly appeared around him. The shade knocked on the doors of his mind, asking to bring out the memories he was trying so hard to suppress. 

What seemed to be the ceiling slowly opened up, brightness shone down and momentarily blinded him. He allowed his eyes to adjust behind his eyelids, and slowly, ever so slowly, he opened them for the second time. What welcomed him was the sight of fluorescent lights glaring angrily down at him, stinging his vision with white. The mechanical sound of a click didn't miss his ears, then came the sensation of pressure being lifted off the sides of his head.

Pushing down on the gravity that's holding him down, he tried raising his upper body. Again, the attempt was a success. Only three things worth taking note of: he was naked save for the underwear adorning his lower half, the liquid he had been feeling was warm and was indeed very shallow, and lastly, he was in the center of a white room.

He brought his hand to cover his mouth, the gears in his mind finally starting to turn. The situation was very peculiar indeed, but he doubt the truth could be that far off. He recollected what transpired over the last few seconds, minutes, hours; discarding his sense of time for something best suited to intuition instead.

The last class trial. Monokuma. Shirogane Tsumugi. Harukawa Maki. Yumeno Himiko. K1-B0. A game. Danganronpa.

_Danganronpa_.

The answer hit him hard, along with a plethora of mixed emotions he wished he could sort out. But he knew it was too late for something so overwhelming. The truth was even harder to swallow now that he was alone with his thoughts without any distractions or adrenaline to keep its nauseating clutches at bay. He swallowed the lump in his throat, willing his mind to momentarily push the images catching up to him, and to focus, **focus** at the matter on hand. Prioritizing rationality over emotions was a skill he never asked for, but was forcefully ingrained into every fiber of his being anyway. Like a survival instinct he didn't have a choice but to depend on.

If his deductions were right, he should be in the "real world." That's the only conclusion his string of dubious logic could muster. Nevertheless, there were still a lot of loose ends that need to be attached.

As if on cue, a door opened and there came sauntering in was a woman he had never seen before in his entire life. He could've blushed at the realization that he was only wearing an underwear, but he was too preoccupied in observing, taking in whatever information he could get in the short span of the gap between them slowly closing in. All he got out of it was some sort of verification that his deductions were right. Nothing more, nothing less.

_"Hi!"_ The girl waved her hand in front of him, effectively catching his attention with just the pitch of her voice. _"Saihara Shuichi-san, right?"_

He nodded silently, the words getting lost before they could even reach his throat. A voice in his mind was telling him that he should be alarmed, but the bright smile devoid of any malice held him back.

_"I'm Keiko. I'm part of Team Danganronpa. First of all, congratulations on successfully winning the game! I prepared some clothes for you. Just go out the door once you're done."_ The woman beamed at him, offering the set of clothes to his damp hands. He meekly accepted.

He stared at it for a while, noting the absence of a single crease, and how complete it was with a towel and even an underwear. ... There are more pressing matters than the reason why the underwear was the exact replica of the one he's wearing, he reminded himself.

When he looked up, the woman was already halfway out the door. In a panic, he called out to her, raspy voice and all.

_"Hey!"_ Was the first thing that came out, and he hoped the person didn't mind the informality. He accidentally let out more anger in his voice than he intended to, after all.

The woman stopped in her tracks, glancing back at him.

_"U-um...I..."_ Despite the bravado of his former tone, it quickly dissipated along with any sense of brevity he hoped he had.

The silence stretched on as he racked his mind for the right question to ask. The understanding smile directed at him certainly wasn't helping.

_"I know you have a lot of questions and you're probably confused right now, but our team will make sure that you're properly oriented. Don't you worry, okay?"_

Any semblance of reassurance that he should’ve felt from that statement was long since lost. After all, how could he trust the very people that put all of them in the game in the first place?

_But you wanted this._

The realization couldn’t be any heavier. As much as he wanted to deny it—to cling to what little stubbornness left inside of him, he couldn’t. It was a losing battle, and he should know that winning or losing aren’t the only choices he had. Whatever comes, he’ll face it. No more turning away from the truth.

He dried himself and hurriedly put on the clothes prepared for him. There were no mirrors in the room so seeing his appearance wasn’t possible, but he surmised that he was currently wearing a highschool uniform. It irked him how well it fitted, as if he was wearing it after all this time…That’s probably the case. Deciding not to dwell too much on the new insights flitting through his mind, he proceeded in going out of the room only to freeze in his tracks. There, on the floor, was a black cap. It dazed him for a moment, the images he was trying to keep from spilling out dipped dangerously low before he shut all of it out. Keeping himself sane took a considerable effort, leaving his chest tight and his breathing heavy. He exited the room, leaving the cap behind.

The same woman greeted him, and only then did he have a proper look at her face. She looked young, maybe a little older than him. She looked…normal.

They walked through a wide hallway lined up with doors that were identical to his. 14—7 on each side—he counted. Those must be…

They entered an elevator far too sophisticated than the ones he knew. It lacked the usual humming sound, and the vertigo that creeped in whenever he rode one. Arriving a few floors above, the rampant noise boomed at him once the doors slid open. The amount of people walking around, working on the rows of computers, and chatting animatedly rendered him speechless. It was such a contrast to the deserted silence he became so used to that he almost missed the latter. Not really, but the culture shock seeped into him like a slow-acting poison.

Some of the people that walked past him did a double take, as if he grew another head and they needed to check if what they saw was real or not. He kept his gaze low over the whole duration of their trek. The old habit of wanting to cave into himself manifesting beyond his control. It felt like eons ago the last time he’d been exposed to that amount of people.

A glowing insignia decorating a considerably large amount of space on the wall caught his attention. The letters ‘D’ and ‘R’, and the iconic red eye towered over him, making him unnecessarily nauseous.

_“We’re here!”_

He didn’t notice that they were already a long way from where they came from, the noise now muffled by the distance. What stood before him was a large door, the monochromatic color combination beating a sense of familiarity within him.

_“Your friends are already waiting inside.”_ The woman urged him to enter as she opened the door.

Saihara didn’t know what to expect as he stepped into the room. A part of him hoped to see 14 faces, greeting him with a smile, a scowl, a grin—whatever, as long as they were complete. But another part of him, the one brutally solidified by one class trial after another, knew that he's wishing for the impossible.

The first thing he saw were two red eyes glaring at something unfortunate--thankfully not at him—before turning to his direction, softening enough to border the line between lethal and non-lethal. Saihara noted the way Harukawa's chest heaved as she exhaled, giving him the impression of relief. Although given that it was Harukawa Maki herself, he wouldn't stretch it.

_"Saihara!"_ A familiar voice called out, catching him off guard as arms wrapped around his torso. He couldn't help the blood rushing to his face at the sudden proximity. Him and Yumeno never really had much interaction, leaving him puzzled as to why he was currently being subjected to a tight hug by the smaller girl. Beads of tears threatening to fall were evident in the other's eyes as their gazes met. He gave a confused look at Harukawa who seemed unfazed at the heart-warming scene before her. That's when it occurred to him just how depraved Yumeno was of emotional support. She couldn't let it all out in front of Harukawa. She didn't have anyone. If only Chabashira or Angie were there...

Sympathy washed over him as he returned the gesture, wrapping an arm around the shoulders shaking ever so slightly in front of him. The usual pointed hat the other wore was nowhere to be found, and Saihara took the opportunity to pat her head. Despite the feeling of wetness on the front of his shirt becoming more apparent by the second, he found himself not being bothered by it at all.

They stayed like that for a while, Yumeno's soft sobs providing a fitting accent to the silence. Saihara wouldn't have minded for the moment to last a little longer, but the misplaced sound of someone clearing their throat certainly thought otherwise.

When he tried to find the source of the disturbance, he was surprised to see that the three of them weren’t alone. A man stood in front of the room, a stiff smile on his face as he stared at the two of them.

_"Hey, really sorry to interrupt, but we're kind of getting behind schedule."_ The man notified as carefully as he could, but the impatience in his voice was evident.

Yumeno reluctantly removed her shaking hands from him, wiping the tears continuing to fall down on her reddened cheeks. Saihara guided her to one of the seats besides their other classmate, a flash of understanding being reflected in the assassin's usually stoic features before disappearing as soon as he took notice.

The three of them stared on ahead, uncertain of what will unfold as a large screen lit up. At that point in time, Saihara didn’t know if anything was capable of surprising him anymore. As much as he craved for answers, being enlightened was just as taxing as pursuing. He was sure it was the same for his two friends.

_“Alright!”_ A sharp clap resounded in the room, making the young detective jolt in his seat. It came from the stranger in front of them, the screen behind him displaying the insignia he formerly encountered in the hallway. _“I’m Koda from Team DR, and congratulations to the three of you! You may not remember it, but we’ve met before.”_

_Before_. Saihara mulled over the word, and pondered over what it entailed.

_“The goal of this little orientation is to properly brief you on what happens after finishing the game, as well as to answer any questions you’d like to ask. I’m sure you have a lot.”_ The man looked at them with a knowing smile, as if he knew what they were thinking—what they were feeling, even though he shouldn’t. Because they’ve never met this estranged man before so he shouldn’t know a single thing about them. At least that’s what his “memories” were telling him.

_“First things first, about the prize.”_

_“Eh? P-prize?”_ A small voice asked. He glanced at the redhead beside him, her eyes slightly swollen from crying, yet it flickered with something akin to hope.

The man chuckled. _“Yes, there’s a prize for winning. It **is** a game after all, and you’re all contestants. Usually we only prepare enough for two, but since this season’s outcome had been...surprising, we made sure there’s enough for the three of you. So don’t worry about getting the short end of the stick.”_

If the whole idea about them participating in a televised killing game show irked him before, it sure outright disturbed him right now. The nausea was getting difficult to contain as the word “contestants” repeated in his mind. And the way that it was explained, it’s as if dangling some incentive in front of their faces would make everything else alright. It made his stomach twist and turn in a sickly fashion.

_“Is the prize a wish? Will you make any wish come true?”_ Yumeno asked, her voice laced with suppressed desperation. If that was the case, Saihara wondered what she will wish for? Because he himself had a lot in mind.

The question seemed to baffle the man, the discomfort slightly slipping in his relaxed features. _“E-err, no, sorry. It’s money, actually.”_

He should’ve known. Yumeno slumped even lower beside him, her lips pursing in defeat.

_“But don’t fret! We’re very generous when it comes to our prizes! For this season, the prize money is one hundred million yen. And you won’t even need to share it among yourselves. Each of you will get a hundred million!”_ The man beamed, giving them a thumbs up accompanied with a grin.

The reassurance and encouragement didn’t reach them. Maybe in the past, the revelation will surprise him—even excite him. But his past self was long since gone.

_“Can money resurrect the dead?”_ Yumeno muttered under her breath. How he also wished it can.

_“Oh, is that what was bothering you? Don’t you worry, we’ll get to that later.”_ The man winked at them, and the young detective would’ve been bothered if not for the intriguing implications he picked up from the statement. For the first time since the start of the presentation, he found himself interested. Now he just had to wonder if it was a bait worth biting.

_“Moving on, we also have various benefits for you.”_ The man moved through the presentation, the screen now showing a list of the supposedly "benefits". A certain item caught his attention.

_“Therapy?”_ He repeated out loud as he read it, turning to the man for clarification.

_“Yes, we provide therapeutic services for everyone who participated in the game. Psychiatric, psychological, counseling, rehabilitation, physical—we have various experts that we’re collaborated with for these."_ The man explained proudly. _"Well, it’s all up to you if you wanted to avail any of these benefits of course, but we highly encourage it. They’re all at your disposal as long as you have the Danganronpa Card.”_

As the man mentioned it, he walked over to them and handed out a fairly-sized envelope. Saihara dismissed the color and the red eye decoration in favor of opening it. What lied inside was a plastic card bearing the same theme, as well as a pamphlet of some sort, and a few papers.

_“The DR Card can be used to get the various benefits listed on the pamphlet. The prize money is also in your respective bank accounts that we made for you, and can only be withdrawn using that card. Think of it as some sort of ATM card with extra features. It’s like getting your Hunter License after completing the Hunter Exam!”_ The man chuckled as he walked back to the front of the room. None of them reacted to the supposedly comical reference.

Saihara smoothed his fingers over the card, noting the name embossed in bold letters along with his talent. His picture stared at him blankly from the upper left, sporting a poker face. All those class trials...all those deaths...everything all boiled down to a piece of plastic. He gripped it with his fist.

_“Also, a copy of our contract is included in that envelope. It’s really long but you might want to read through it. Your application form and personal profile are also there for your personal use.”_ The man nonchalantly continued. Saihara peered through the papers inside of the envelope, catching a glimpse of another picture of his. It showed him clad in a familiar cap and a uniform similar to the one he was currently wearing. It was “before” Saihara Shuichi. He made a mental note to read through all of the documents later on.

_“Okay, so we’re almost done. I hope you’re still with me?”_ The man gave them an expectant look. They just stared blankly at him in return. _“Good. Now, about returning to your families...”_

This seemed to have done the trick of catching their attentions as the tension in the air rose. Saihara held his breath, glancing at the two sitting beside him. Yumeno looked nervous, hands trembling as they gripped the hem of her skirt. Harukawa was as stoic as ever, except for her glare that was getting sharper and sharper at the man before them. Saihara hoped, for the man’s sake, he watched his back carefully.

_“You can ask anyone to pick you up from here or we can provide you a ride home. Your contact numbers should be written in your application form. Oh, and you can retrieve your personal belongings after this.”_ The man relayed the information to them, smiling all the while.

_Home_. Saihara let his imaginations run wild as he thought of what home was like. Was it cozy and rustic like the one he remembers? Quiet and cramped, the smell of coffee never leaving the air as his uncle sat on his study with books and papers piled on top of one another, a dim lamp providing illumination to the typewritten letters. He closed his eyes, immersing himself in the memory. It may be a false one, but he found small comfort in it. A genuine feeling brought about by counterfeits and lies. The line just gets thinner and thinner.

_“Yeah, I guess that’s it. Any questions you’d like to ask?.”_ The man looked at each of them alternately, momentarily glancing at his watch every so often.

_“U-um—”_ Saihara spoke up impulsively, his mouth outrunning his mind.

_“Yes?”_

_“A while ago, I believe you said you’re going to talk about the ones who d—the others who participated in the game...”_ He trailed off into silence. It wasn’t explicitly stated but he wanted to test his theory. Unfortunately, he was too afraid to ask as much as he feared to be answered. Harukawa and Yumeno both gave him a wary look, the sudden question catching the two of them off guard.

It took a while for the man to understand what it was he was inquiring about, but then his face lit up upon realization.

_“Oh, right! I almost forgot! As expected of the Super Highschool Level Detective, you remembered that.”_ The man winked at him with a grin. Saihara wasn’t really in the mood to be praised. Especially not from someone like him. _“About your ‘classmates’ who didn’t finish the game...well...”_

Silence and suspense weren’t the best combination for their nerves. In his peripheral vision, he could see Yumeno’s wide eyes as she bit her trembling lip. Harukawa, on the other hand, had an unreadable expression, but the detective can sense the edge in her posture. Once again, they were on a standstill with fate.

_“Actually, they’re alive.”_

The bomb dropped, but not a single noise could be heard. It took a few seconds for it to sink in, but he still couldn’t find the proper reaction to have. Happy? Relieved? Thankful? Can he even trust the words of this man?

_“Prove it.”_ A fierce voice shot through the deafening silence they were trapped in. He turned to the source of the challenge, surprised to see Harukawa Maki, the Super Highschool Level Assassin, with her crimson eyes burning with determination. Saihara had never seen her look so alive.

_“Yeah sure, follow me.”_ The man seemed unfazed by the passionate provocation directed at him, as if he had absolutely nothing to worry about. He should be. Or else Saihara’s worried Team Danganronpa’s going to have one less member after they were done with the orientation.

They were led to a lower floor which was very much in contrast to the one they just came from. White surrounded them on all sides, their footsteps barely audible thanks to the carpet decorating the entirety of the hallway.

_"This is our mini hospital, where we tend to those who 'died' in the game. We monitor them until they wake up."_ The man explained as they walked the length of the hallway lined up with parallel rooms seen through big, glass windows.

_"Wake up? What do you mean?"_ Harukawa asked, eyeing the seemingly empty rooms.

_“Danganronpa is a virtual reality game. Your bodies are put into sleep with only your consciousness controlling your avatars. Players eventually wake up after exiting the world.”_ The man explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world, even though Saihara found it hard to keep up. He didn’t recall technology being that advanced to be able to provide a game experience so realistic like the one they just played. But if that was the case, then isn't that just like—

_"So it's just like the killing game simulator we encountered?"_ Harukawa asked the question for him, crossing her arms.

_"Yes! The whole idea was actually inspired from this."_ The man agreed.

_“But in the killing game simulator, dying in-game can be fatal to your real body.”_ Saihara commented, Iruma’s expression haunting him as she struggled for her life while they all stayed oblivious that a murder was already happening.

_"Yes, that’s the difference with Danganronpa. It’s just a killing game show. Of course you won’t die in real life.”_ The man chuckled lightly, giving them an incredulous look. _“You don’t really think we’ll let someone **die** on national television, do you?”_

The detective felt dumbfounded. Like someone just performed a huge prank on him. After all this time, he really thought that they were all dead. That he’ll never see any of them ever again. It was a good thing, it really is, but the feeling of being toyed around for the sake of entertainment left a bad taste in his mouth.

_“But dying in-game still has its repercussions, especially on the nerve cells of the brain. They're the ones in direct contact with the simulation, after all. But of course, we made sure that no permanent physical harm can come to your real-life bodies. The shock experienced by the brain is reduced to a low level, so it can translate to being pinched or slapped or something like that. Although temporary comatose can't be avoided. This killing game simulator was my idea, by the way."_ The man explained expertly, seemingly pleased at himself. The technical jargon was a bit difficult to digest, but he stored the information deep inside his brain to be mulled over later on.

_"I don't care."_ The assassin stated coldly at the last remark. She didn't look so pleased, but Saihara could interpret the aggressiveness for normalcy. At the very least, she was showing her hostility through words.

His two eyes darted from one window to another, eager to see any form of confirmation that it was alright to feel relieved, and to have the thorn lodged in his throat disappear. He still refused to believe everything that he was told about despite how he thought it actually made sense. He wondered if the game was to be blamed for his pessimism or if it was because he had always been one to assume the worst of everything.

A sudden shriek pierced through his eardrums, the sound magnified by the eerie silence.

_"Tenko!"_

They all turned their heads, finding Yumeno leaning on one of the windows with her palms flat on the surface. Him and Harukawa followed suit, staring straight into the transparent glass. Situated at the center of the room were various medical equipment and machinery surrounding a hospital bed. It was a bit hard to see from their position who was lying down, but that long, dark hair with a slight curl was unmistakeable. It was Chabashira Tenko, the Super Highschool Level Aikido Master.

_"C-can I go inside?"_ Yumeno's voice quivered, sounding more like she’s pleading than asking permission. Tears formed on the edge of her eyes, threatening to fall once again on her tear-stained cheeks.

The man hesitated from where he was standing, seemingly torn over what to do. It lasted for a moment before he shrugged, nodding at the magician.

_"Yeah, sure. Just don't touch any of the equipment or do anything extreme to disturb the patient. You can also visit your other friends. Just tell me once you're done. I'll be waiting at the end of the hallway."_ The man said as he walked away from them, leaving the three of them alone.

The Super Highschool Level Magician didn't waste any time entering the room, sprinting straight towards the side of the bed, and just cried and cried and cried. Saihara never knew that humans were capable of crying that much. He can't help but to smile at the scene before him.

He sensed unrest coming from beside him, witnessing Harukawa’s crimson eyes scanning all over the hallway as her fingers fidgeted through her ponytail. 

_"Aren't you going to see him?"_ He asked quietly, their eyes conversing and understanding each other’s thoughts. He didn't drop any name, but both of them knew who it was he was referring to. Harukawa nodded at him, the longing evident in her gaze as she eagerly checked every room. Saihara followed suit with a small smile tugging on his lips.

They walked in silence as he himself glanced inside the transparent windows. He could only make out some features, but recognizing them felt like second nature to him. As if he had memorized every detail of their person despite knowing them for only a few days' time. Amami, Hoshi, Tojo, Shinguji, Angie, Gonta, Iruma...Emotions continued to manifest inside of him as he passed them by, creating a confusing mix of good ones and bad ones. He remembered everything like it just happened a few hours ago, and the wounds are still too fresh for them to be opened up like this.

A glimpse of gold made him stop on his tracks.

_"Saihara?"_ Harukawa called out to him, sparing a glance at the window he was looking at. Her sharp eyes narrowed in understanding. _"I'll go on ahead."_

_"Y-yeah, I'll be with you shortly."_ He answered without tearing his eyes away from the glass.

_"Take your time."_ The assassin muttered under her breath before walking away, leaving him with his unbridled thoughts.

He reached for the door without knowing it, entering the equally noiseless room. He strutted towards the bed slowly, the humming of the machines and the soft beep of the heart monitor becoming more apparent as he drew closer. He hoped his eyes didn’t betray him as they landed on the bed’s occupant, observing as her blonde hair curled around her shoulders. She looked a little pale and thinner than he last remembered, but she was there. Asleep…but alive.

He could still hear the giant piano playing to a deranged tune, and her limp body dangling above the keys before being crushed by the lid. Just thinking about it made him want to retch the contents of what was left of his empty stomach. The sensation was perturbing. Like knowing that something shouldn’t exist yet there it was in front of him.

He shook himself out of the darkening thoughts starting to riddle his mind. What good would it do to keep going in circles? He had to break through the cycle somehow. What’s important was that he’s here, and Akamatsu Kaede was here. He couldn’t have wanted it any more different.

It felt like eternity as he stood there, just noting the faint signs of life on her motionless figure. His gaze lingered on her hands—those warm hands that held his when he was so unsure of himself. He reached out for it, imagining transferring some of his energy into her in the off-chance of waking her up. Just like when she gave him the courage to face the truth before everything went downhill. There were a lot of things he wanted to tell her. Too many stories he wanted to share. He wondered if he should be crying like Yumeno, letting go of all the sentiments slowly killing his insides from within. But his eyes were dry and he just didn’t feel like it. He settled for silence instead.

A few minutes after, he decided he had lingered long enough. It was time to visit Momota.

When he saw Harukawa’s twin tails in one of the rooms, her presence a stark contrast to the pure white walls, he figured it belonged to the Super Highschool Level Astronaut. Momentarily debating if he should give them some alone time or what, he hesitantly reached for the doorknob and entered. He stood beside the assassin, casting his golden orbs to their bedridden friend.

The last time he saw him, he had sunken eyes and an ashen complexion as he grinned at him through the window of the hangar’s bathroom. It was a pleasant surprise to see an improvement to his appearance. He seemed better and more lifelike. His lips even sporting a smile as he slept.

_“He looks stupid.”_

The insult didn't go unnoticed by Saihara's ears as he glanced at the assassin beside him, immediately stunned at what he was seeing. Harukawa was smiling widely despite her statement, her eyes giving the most tender look the detective had ever seen come from her, and she just looked…beautiful. Love can really change people, he thought.

They exchanged a few laughs and remarks about the clueless boy sleeping among their midst. It was just like their short-lived training sessions. Saihara thought of the starry sky and Momota’s words that he held close to his heart until the very end.

They both exited the room feeling lighter, the act of breathing less sufferable than before. They rejoined with the man at the end of the hallway, Yumeno already waiting for them. She waved at them with a smile. Her mood seemed to have been lifted, her magical anecdotes already kicking in as soon as they were within hearing range.

_“You okay now?”_

The three of them nodded, compliance becoming easier for them to accept now that they weren't on the edges of their seats.

Before they entered the elevator, another room caught Saihara’s observant eyes. He didn’t notice it was in behind them until then, situated at the dead end of the hallway. He also noted the larger size and the overwhelming number of machines scattered across the room. Wires dangled across each other to meet at the center, all connected to the bed’s current occupant whose face was impossible to make out with all the obstructions in his field of vision.

Saihara didn’t even know that he stopped walking as he just stared inside. If he counted correctly, there were only three people left that he hadn’t seen yet. Could this be—

_“Oh, the one in there is Ouma Kokichi.”_ The man answered the question before he could even ask.

Saihara visibly tensed, the memories tied to the aforementioned name bringing a hurricane of thoughts, feelings, and questions he was unfortunate to still not have any answers to.

_“Nyeeh? Wh-why are there so many scary-looking machines…?”_ He heard Yumeno ask as she peered through the window along with him.

_“Ah well, his circumstances are a bit…different. His manner of death was extreme, to say at the very least. The shock his brain experienced passed the limit, so we had to take extra precautions to stabilize his condition.”_ The man explained seriously, his words being engraved to Saihara’s mind. Now that he thought about it, being slowly crushed by a mechanical press wasn’t the most painless way to go.

_“Is he going to be alright?”_ Harukawa asked, and Saihara thought he was starting to hear things. Of all people, he never expected to hear that kind of question from her. He was witness to how much the assassin was repulsed by the other’s actions, so much so that he could even surmise that she hated him with unparalleled fervor. He couldn’t really blame her. Even he himself felt angry and frustrated at some point. The Super Highschool Level Supreme Leader gave them every reason to despise him, although the detective understood that most of it was necessary to the other’s elaborate plan of ending the killing game.

He convinced himself he “understood” but really, he hadn’t even grazed the tip of the iceberg that is Ouma Kokichi’s mind. The logic behind his actions, the reasons he had, the secrets he buried with him, the lies hiding behind the truths, and the truths hiding behind the lies…He was the only stone left unturned—the final mystery to be solved. Maybe his detective instincts were to blame for his curiosity, or maybe it’s just the Supreme Leader’s innate puzzling nature that was deceivingly unstimulating due to the difficulty of even finding the pieces, but strangely draws you in for more as you start to solve it. The thought made for a good string of alternative scenarios to play through his mind. What if he took notice of his plans at an earlier time? What if he reached out and tried to understand the maze that was his thought process? What if he cooperated with them? Could things have gone out any differently? Maybe they could’ve prevented more sacrifices.

Saihara inwardly sighed, knowing that it’s too late to be thinking of the what ifs and the maybes because the other party was also at fault. As much as he wanted to dance around the idea of working along with the eccentric boy, it wouldn’t have worked if Ouma himself never factored him to be worth any ounce of trust.

_“How long before he wakes up? Before any of them wakes up?”_ He found himself asking.

_“Hmm, it actually depends on the severity of the shock the brain suffered from, as well as their brain's capacity. Some can wake up as soon as this moment, while others might take a longer time to recover. At best, I’ll give Ouma-kun a year or so.“_

_“A year?!”_ The three of them exclaimed at the same time. To say they were shocked—even Harukawa—was an understatement.

_“Uh, yeah? It’s rare, but it wasn’t the longest we had. We’re doing the best we can to take care of them, so just take it easy.”_ The man reassured them with another one of his smiles.

Saihara didn’t know what to feel as he processed the newly acquired information. A year, huh...Guess the answers to his questions will have to wait a bit longer.

_"I didn't see K1-B0 or Tsumugi in any of the rooms..."_ Yumeno commented off-handedly, staring into the distance in a daze.

_"Ah, those guys. They're part of Team DR so they're confined in another floor. Unfortunately, I can't allow you to see them."_ The man simply explained, closing off any chance for negotiation. Saihara pursed his lips. He really wanted to see K1-B0 and thank him.

He gave the long hallway a final glance before they entered the elevator.

The “orientation” was nearing its end as they were given their belongings, and even offered some food. Unfortunately, Saihara didn’t have much of an appetite.

_“You should eat as much as you can.”_ Harukawa commented, looking pointedly at him and his barely touched plate.

_“I’m not really hungry…”_ He answered, noting the nonchalant way the assassin chewed anything that entered her mouth. As if it was just another lunch she was having.

_“Even if you’re not hungry, or you can’t taste anything, just force it down. You’ll never know when you’ll need the energy from it.”_ The assassin lectured with her mouth full. He then noticed how mechanical her way of eating was. She was just forcing herself. Being in her line of work, she must’ve been used to losing her appetite and forcing herself to digest anything just to survive.

Yumeno wasn’t doing any better than him, poking around the food with her fork. Saihara sighed and took a bite of the supposedly juicy steak, which just tasted like wet rubber in his mouth. He swallowed down the acid spiking up in his throat and focused on emptying his plate, repeating Harukawa’s words over and over again in his head.

It took a while for them to finish, him and Yumeno taking their time with their respective dishes. Only then did he have a good look at “his” supposedly belongings. There wasn’t much, just a mobile phone and a wallet. Both items left a sour taste in his mouth, the unmistakable design laughing and mocking him. Black and white adorned the wallet, along with the unmissable red eye of Monokuma. The phone wasn’t any better at hiding how much Danganronpa it was, with the same monochromatic shade coloring the case and Monokuma’s own face decorating it. Keychains of miniature versions of Kirigiri Kyouko and Nanami Chiaki dangled from it. If he doubted his own interview video a while ago, he was definitely convinced now. But that didn’t mean he was willing to just succumb to that realization. If only they weren’t such viable clues to have, he would’ve thrown them away as soon as they were handed to him. He slid them in his pockets for the meantime instead, catching the strange looks Harukawa and Yumeno were giving him. He wanted to disappear then and there.

The same guy they were with entered the room, greeting each of them enthusiastically.

_“This officially ends the orientation, as well as your participation in the New Danganronpa V3! In behalf of Team DR, we thank you for making the project a huge success! We hoped you had as much fun as we did. You can always visit us here or keep in touch with us through our website. Once again, thank you very much!”_

The man bowed in front of them, and Saihara almost returned the gesture if not for the spite he was still feeling towards their team who made the horrible experience possible. He didn't think any of them can let that feeling go for a long time.

_“Is it true that this will be the last installment of your fucked up series?”_ Harukawa suddenly asked, him and Yumeno flinching at the sharp profanity.

_“Ah, yes. We decided to bid farewell to the Danganronpa series. As much as we loved it, we felt like it had gone on for far too long, and that we should venture out into newer projects. That’s also one thing we wanted to thank you for.”_ The man spoke with sincerity and a fond look in his eyes. _You should've ended it after the first one_ , he thought.

_“Why would you thank us? We hated your game and we made sure to ruin it forever. If anything, shouldn’t you be mad?”_ Harukawa stood her ground, unfazed by the gratefulness being shown to her. Saihara can’t help but admire the resolve behind her fierce eyes. She was also searching for answers in her own way.

_“Mad? How can we be?! You guys made this finale such a huge success that we don’t even mind the bad reception we’re getting. It was the perfect ending we could’ve asked for!”_ The man exclaimed in elation, a glint of something not quite normal evident in his smiling eyes. It made Saihara’s skin crawl. The technicality of the whole thing, how all their experiences were all just business and entertainment, and the fact that they even contributed to such a deranged medium, just amplified the disgust he was already feeling at himself.

Harukawa’s eyes darkened, bloodlust oozing out of the entirety of her being. Yumeno shifted uncomfortably from where she was standing, eyes cast down on the floor. He just gulped hard, forcing himself to swallow the despair attempting to burst out of him lest he locked it down and contained it, burying it deep within him so as not to allow it to escape ever again. That was the moment he knew—

This was reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~ I'm feeling really inspired because of NDRV3 and I just had to write down this prompt I've been thinking about for quite a while. This is sort of my own continuation of the story, and I wanted to keep most of the canon elements as much as possible. I'll try my best so that my writing does all these wonderful characters justice. Constructive criticism is very much welcome. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!


	2. Afterglow

White.

Blinking once, twice. Still white.

She inhaled deeply, taking in as much oxygen as she can—as if she won't be able to breathe again if she didn't. Sudden tightness wringed at her throat, but she found nothing when her fingers wrapped around it. Was it all a dream?

The coldness of the metal against her palm. Green strands stained with red. She closed her eyes.

Please be a dream.

* * *

It was already the next morning when he woke up, his head throbbing uncomfortably as he pushed himself off the bed. He can’t remember the last time he had slept that long. Guess all that lack of sleep finally hit him full force. Nevertheless, he felt rested and extremely hungry to add.

The unfamiliar house was as empty as when he first entered it, weeks-old text messages from his parents notifying him that they’ll be out of town for the time being and that he can just buy food using the money they left for him. _Parents_ …more like strangers really. He never knew those people and was a bit relieved that he won’t be seeing them for quite some time. Despite the numerous images on his phone serving as evidence, he still can’t acknowledge the fact.

The house was fairly big, more spacious and modern than the one in his memories. It was apparent that his family was well-off, not that it made him feel any better. Everywhere he looked are expensive furniture and high-end appliances. It was overwhelming, especially his room…

He knew what to expect but the sight still shocked him. Every corner of the room reminded him of Danganronpa. From the black and white wallpaper, to the numerous posters and merchandise scattered throughout the walls, the floor, and even in his bed. Just how much did he spend on those? He wanted nothing more than to burn it all down but decided against it. Not yet. Not until he had checked every suspicious-looking nook and cranny. He wasn’t too enthusiastic about it, but he had to know about himself at the very least. Although the more he discovered, the more he’s starting to hate what he was.

It’s already been a week since he started living there—or rather, returned to his house, would be a better expression—but he still felt reluctant using anything. Like all of it was just borrowed. It was unsettling. He managed to whip up a quick breakfast, just enough to fill his growling stomach. Being alone didn’t bother him that much since the situation wasn’t any different from what he was used to. He only had his uncle to serve as a guardian and he was always busy with work, going out early and coming home late, so he wasn’t a stranger to fending for himself.

Fast food fueled him for the past week and most of the time he couldn’t even finish half of it. The last decent meal he had was the one served to them by Team DR and that was almost a week ago. He’s not doing his body any justice by starving himself, but appetite was just that hard to come along for the past few days.

The sudden vibration in his pocket startled him, frantically fishing out his phone and looking at the name displayed on the bright screen. He immediately answered.

_“Good morning, Harukawa-san.”_ He greeted a little too enthusiastically, welcoming the relief of talking to someone he actually knew.

_“…Morning.”_ Harukawa replied on the other line. _“Sorry to call this early. Just want to check if you’re still up for today.”_

_“Yes! I-I mean yes, I’ll go with the two of you. If that’s okay.”_ Saihara wanted to cringe at his failed attempt to mask his excitement. He didn’t even know why he was excited. Maybe it’s just the thought of seeing his two friends—the only people who’s not a complete stranger to him right now—after a week of not talking to anyone except for his therapist and himself.

_“Good. We’ll meet you at the station. Bye.”_

_“Ah wait--!”_ The detective called out before the line was cut.

_“…What?”_ The girl on the other side asked, hints of annoyance in her voice.

_“Um, er, Yumeno-san…how is she?”_ Saihara slowly inquired, his voice getting softer at the memory of the magician’s expression when the three of them parted ways.

After the whole orientation of Team DR, they realized that they had to go somewhere one way or another. He was a bit relieved when he learned he’s originally from Tokyo, a city he’s very much familiar with. His supposed address was also quite near the company’s location so there’s that at least.

What surprised them the most was Harukawa’s “mother” suddenly bursting through the building’s doors. She smothered the assassin in a tight hug as soon as they saw each other.

_“Oh Makino, dear! I’ve missed you! You don’t know how worried I was ever since you joined this game without telling me!”_ The woman cried as she cupped Harukawa’s face in her trembling hands. _“I’m so glad you’re safe…”_

Saihara watched the unbelievable scene before him, noticing the way the assassin froze on the spot, confusion and shock gracing her usual stoic appearance. She was probably feeling lost at the sudden display of affection and care.

_“Who…who are you?”_ Harukawa asked in a shaky voice but her eyes maintained their usual coldness. Saihara saw the woman’s heart break right then and there.

_“Oh dear…What have they done to you…I’m your mother, remember?”_ The woman asked as she looked at her daughter with a sad gaze. Harukawa’s eyes widened, her hardened expression slowly crumbling to show all the emotions she’s bottling in. She lowered her blood-red eyes on the ground.

_“I-I don’t have--”_ She breathed shakily. _“I don’t remember…sorry…”_

The woman cried quietly in front of them. The sadness, the hopelessness, the pain—Saihara felt all of them coming from her. They did this. He wondered just what pushed each of them to play this game. Was life so miserable for their past selves that they were willing to erase all their memories? He can only hope to find the answers to such subjective questions.

Fortunately, she recovered quite quickly, telling Harukawa that it was enough that she was unharmed. She then proceeded to greet the other two and thank them for taking care of her daughter, to which Saihara wanted to say that it was actually the other way around. She resembled an older version of Harukawa. Red eyes, dark hair and all that, leaving little to no doubt that she was a legitimate relative. She was kind—as motherly as a mother can be, Saihara thought.

The woman agreed to Harukawa’s request to wait for Yumeno to ensure she had somewhere to go home to before leaving. The magician tapped the call button on her phone for the umpteenth time, waiting patiently but resulting in an endless ringing.

_“They’re not picking up…”_ Yumeno mumbled quietly, casting her eyes down on the floor.

_“Is there any other number you can call in there?”_ The detective asked, offering his own form of help to the growingly disheartened girl.

_“These are the only ones labeled ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’, I don’t know who these other people are…”_ The magician pouted sadly.

_“Do you want me to accompany you to your house?”_ Harukawa’s mother offered, smiling gently at the smaller girl.

Yumeno seemed to hesitate for a moment but nodded. It’s better than availing Team DR’s service.

Saihara volunteered to join the ride, wanting to make sure that his friend got home safely. Yumeno lived in Osaka while Harukawa’s also from Tokyo. The ride was long and quiet, Harukawa’s mom doing most of the talking. Saihara opted to look out the window to see how Japan looked. It didn’t look much different, just more peaceful probably.

The sun was already setting when they arrived at the address. What welcomed them was an abandoned house.

_“Last I heard, they migrated to some country."_ A neighbor told them when they tried asking around, eyeing Yumeno with narrowed eyes. _“Wait, aren’t you Hime-chan? You didn’t come with them?”_

Yumeno didn’t cry. She just stood there in front of the empty house, unmoving. The sky darkened along with the light in her eyes.

Harukawa’s mother kindly offered to provide shelter for the time being, giving a tight hug to the unmoving girl. The two of them didn’t know what to say. It was just cruel, the detective thought. He remembered Yumeno’s bright smile that she just recently recovered and is now taken away from her once again. It felt like they’re always caught in the continuous struggle between hope and despair. When will it end?

He was dropped off to his house afterwards and the three of them exchanged phone numbers, bidding temporary farewells to each other.

Yumeno’s void expression stayed on his mind until now.

_“Why don’t you see for yourself?”_ Harukawa vaguely replied before hanging up. The fact that she sounded normal was a good sign, right? 

Saihara wasted no time getting ready, putting on clothes that were thankfully within his “normal clothes” range. He still found it strange to see himself wearing something that is not the usual black uniform.

He arrived at the station thirty minutes earlier than their decided meeting time, his eagerness too powerful to fight. There were a lot of people walking around, and the air was getting more humid. Spring was nearing its end and summer is just around the corner.

The first time he attempted to go out of the house, he can’t stop thinking about running into people who will recognize him from the game. Contrary to his expectations and what Shirogane told them, not all people watched the game. Sure, there were a lot who stared at him a little longer than necessary and talked about him while his back was turned—some even asking for his autograph—but not _everyone_ watched the killing game show. It relieved him to know that there were still people who aren’t deranged enough to watch highschool students kill each other. Nevertheless, the attention was unnecessary.

He dazedly watched the people around him without much thought when he suddenly caught a glimpse of red eyes and red hair in the distance. It was Harukawa and Yumeno.

_“Hey.”_ He greeted as they approached him, giving a small smile to his two friends.

Harukawa nodded, seemingly not in the best of moods as she glared at nothing in particular. Saihara turned his attention to the smaller girl beside her, relieved to see the usual pouty face of the other.

_“Hey, Saihara.”_ Yumeno waved lazily at him. She looked lively. The detective glanced at Harukawa, who gave him a told-you-so look. He made a note to ask her for details later on. For now, they needed to visit their other friends.

It was something he suggested before they parted ways, to which the both of them agreed. Well, it was what he planned to do since the very beginning anyway. It was also a stroke of luck that his house was literally a 15-minute walk from the building.

The staff was very much welcoming to them, allowing them free access to most of the rooms and floors. He was startled when he suddenly saw his face plastered on one of the walls, his hand clutching the edge of his cap in a peculiar pose. Since when did they take that? It wasn’t only him. Familiar faces lined up some of the hallways, taking their own space. It just made him more uncomfortable to be there.

They arrived on the floor containing the hospital rooms where their classmates resided in. Somewhere deep inside him was the excitement of seeing some of them, as well as a small hope that one of them might finally wake up.

He wasn’t too far off the mark.

_“Where is she?”_ Saihara asked at the empty room where a certain pianist should be sleeping.

_“Oh, Akamatsu-san already went home.”_ A passing nurse answered him. _“She was discharged a few days ago along with Amami-san.”_

Saihara’s eyes widened in surprise. _“A-amami-kun?”_ He repeated, remembering the boy’s green hair and pierced ears.

He felt relieved, happy, worried, and lonely all in one succession. Relieved and happy that the two of them woke up, worried if they got home safely, and lonely because he didn’t get to at least see them.

_“When did they wake up?”_ He quipped at the nurse.

_“I think it was the day after you guys did.”_

Figures. Now that he thought about it, their deaths weren’t that severe. But the thought still made him shudder.

_“I see…Is there any way to contact them?”_ He inquired, hoping that he could at least get their number.

_“Yeah, sure.”_ The nurse tapped on the tablet in her hand and presented a profile of the pianist and Amami, complete with their pictures and phone numbers. Saihara hurriedly took out his phone and added the numbers to his contacts.

_“Um, shouldn’t this be confidential information?”_ He can’t help but ask, wondering if they just give out all the participant’s information as easy as that.

_“Of course, but you guys are special exceptions. Being a fellow candidate, it’s not unusual that you would want to keep in touch with the other players. Although, we’re not responsible for whatever happens afterwards.”_ The nurse winked at him before walking away.

He was glad that he got two of his classmate’s number, but that last statement bothered him. What could possibly happen between them after the game? It was worth investigating later on.

He proceeded to Momota’s room afterwards, joining Harukawa in visiting the astronaut.

_“He still looks stupid.”_ Harukawa commented as he sat down on the chair next to her. The detective can’t help but to smile at the insult, thinking that the girl showed her affection in unconventional ways.

_“How’s Akamatsu?”_ The assassin asked with slight interest.

With a sigh, he relayed the news to her. She didn’t give much reaction, but he can feel her tense up.

_“So, the victim and his ‘killer’ woke up together.”_ Harukawa thoughtfully repeated, amusement mixed subtly in her voice. _“That must have been awkward.”_

_“Harukawa-san…”_ The assassin’s off-handed comments disturbed Saihara, but he must admit that the same thought passed by him a while ago. It must’ve been unsettling, especially for Akamatsu’s case since she remembered what she had (not) done. Saihara hoped that the guilt didn’t catch up to the girl’s consciousness because she didn’t do anything wrong. If only she knew…

Saihara excused himself to see their other friends’ conditions. He walked the length of the hallway, looking into the glass windows—sometimes stopping for a moment—and observing the steady rise and fall of his classmates’ chest. It was like he’s in a museum of asleep individuals.

He reached the end of the hallway and the sight of the biggest room caught his attention once again. There were fewer machineries than last time and two nurses were currently tending to the patient inside. He still couldn’t see the Supreme Leader’s face from where he was.

_“Why don’t you just go inside already?”_ Harukawa’s annoyed voice startled him, making him slightly jump from the spot.

_“H-how long have you been standing there?”_ It was amazing how he didn’t sense her presence at all.

_“Long enough.”_ The assassin quipped, crossing her arms and giving the detective an expectant look. _“Well?”_

_“No, I’m…It’s fine.”_ He refused, giving the room a wary glance.

_“I know you want to check on him..”_

Of course he did. Ouma was in the most critical condition out of everyone else. They might say that he’s in good hands and will recover soon, but he doubted there wasn’t any serious casualties to his health. He **_did_ ** get crushed by a hydraulic press after all. Minimized pain or not, the shock must still be in a whole different level than the rest. He couldn’t even imagine how that must have felt. He gulped down the anxiety that came with the thought.

_“No. I-I mean yes. Yes, I do, but…”_

It sounded pathetic, but there’s some unknown force stopping him from seeing the other. And he’s too much of a coward to find out the reason.

Harukawa stared at him blankly, as if willing him to change his mind through her intimidating look alone. She scoffed after a few seconds. _“Suit yourself.”_

Awkward silence hung over them as Harukawa returned to ignoring his existence. She seemed on edge more so than usual.

_“How have you been, Harukawa-san?”_ He steeled himself to ask, hoping that the other would not lash out at him.

It took some time for Harukawa to respond, fiddling with her dark locks thoughtlessly. _“Fine.”_ She shortly answered without much context.

Saihara recognized the attempt as hiding her emotions through silent treatment and short replies. So he decided to prod even further with the questions, just like a true detective interrogating a suspect.

_“How is it with your family?”_

He didn’t miss the slightest twitch in Harukawa’s eyes, and that’s when he knew he hit the right spot. Harukawa opened her mouth to say something, only to close it in hesitation. He patiently watched her as she grew even more restless.

_“I’m not used to it.”_ She finally let out, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. It’s like a huge burden was lifted from her shoulders from the way they slumped on the glass windows.

_“Used to what?”_ He urged her to continue.

_“A family. A home. I don’t know…I didn’t even have a house before all this. But now I suddenly have all these things that I never got to experience before. I don’t know how to deal with it.”_

The assassin looked uncharacteristically disoriented and lost on what to do. Culture shock was inevitable, it seems. 

_“But they’re good people.”_ Harukawa added, her tone and eyes softening in a fond look. He figured that her family must’ve been kind and welcoming, seeing that her mother was already so affectionate. _“Even Yumeno warmed up to them almost instantly.”_

_“That’s great. I was wondering how she was doing.”_

_“She pretty much feels right at home already. It’s crazy how fast she adapts to her environment.”_ Harukawa let out a small chuckle, the tension in her features slowly fading. _“We’re still trying to contact her relatives though, but so far we haven’t found one.”_

_“I see…”_ Saihara mumbled thoughtfully. That was a bit odd. Her family couldn’t have just abandoned her out of the blue.

_“She doesn’t seem too bothered about it anymore, and I don’t think they mind letting her stay in the house.”_

Saihara felt like a thorn just got pulled out of his throat. Realizing that his friends were in good hands made him feel better than he has ever been all week.

_“That’s really good. I’m so glad the both of you are doing alright.”_ He gave the girl beside him a wide smile.

_“Letting that out actually felt...okay. Thanks.”_ Harukawa nudged his shoulder lightly in a friendly gesture accompanied with a small smile of her own. Well, that was new. It felt like their relationship grew just a tad bit closer. _“How about you? Still alive?”_

_“Thankfully, yeah. My parents won’t be back from their business trip until next week, so I’m just doing whatever I can to discover more about myself.”_

_“Ironic that you end up investigating about yourself of all people.”_ Harukawa shook her head lightly, giving him a disapproving look. He just shrugged it off with a faint smile. Even though it’s all fake, his detective instincts still flow through him.

Yumeno joined them after a while, grumbling about how hungry she was. They decided to go home for the day.

_"Hey, Saihara."_ Harukawa called out just as they were about to part ways. He stopped on his tracks to turn to the assassin. _"Tell me when you've contacted Akamatsu."_

_"Yeah."_ He replied with a smile, giving a final wave before continuing down the direction of his house.

Finally, he can hear her voice again.

* * *

She blinked at her reflection in the mirror, fingers finding their way on her bare neck again. A stinging tightness flickers but fades as soon as it comes, like some phantom pain creeping up every now and then. The memory makes her dizzy, images of horrified faces flashing whenever she closes her eyes, staring up at her dangling figure. She shook her head in an effort to snap herself out of it.

_"Kaori! It's time for dinner!"_

The sudden mention of her name--the real one--did a good job in distracting her from going on a reminiscing episode once again. She slapped both palms in her cheeks, stretching her lips in a strained smile.

_"Relax, relax. You can do this."_ She repeated to herself, a mantra she recites whenever she was about to give a performance to a big crowd. Calm down, focus, think later.

Hurriedly exiting her room, she made her way down the hallway. Her pace slowed down as she passed by a certain room with its door wide open. Particles of dust were visible through the dim light illuminating the big room, and at the center of it was a grand piano--so white and so beautiful, but also abandoned and forgotten with various things piled up on top of it. She can hear it crying over the weight of its burden, and she wanted nothing more than to restore it to its original state. She wondered how its smooth keys will feel beneath her fingertips. What kind of sounds can she make with it?

The smell of food enveloped her as soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs, her stomach growling at the sight of the dishes splayed out in the table.

_"Well, sit down so we can start eating._ " Her mother urged her, gesturing for her to sit beside her. She complied with a small smile, eyes landing on the fixed plate across her. The same view greeted her every time they were going to eat. An empty chair and an empty plate complete with utensils. A reserved seat for someone who's never going to come.

They mostly ate in silence, with the occasional small talk and whatnot. She didn't mind that the woman beside her was literally a stranger that she never met before. If she's her supposed mother, then she can work with that. At least she had a mother, right? It was better than nothing. So she tries a little harder, replies a little livelier and longer to keep what small talk they have. She wanted to know more about the woman who has the same blonde hair as her, features fading with the old age but still keeping their elegance nevertheless. She hoped to connect with her in a familial level until she forgets the one she knew in her fake memories. Because all of that was just a lie and this was the truth.

It wasn't easy the first time they met. The first thing she got from her wasn't a greeting but a slap. It was loud and sharp, the pain in her cheek delayed by the shock. Usually she would get mad at being slapped for no reason, but somehow she couldn't find it in her to spite the stranger. Anger, frustration, pain, worry...All of these transferred to her the moment her palm connected with the skin of her face, and she immediately understood. A tight hug followed soon after, the anguish replaced with warmth. It was _love_.

She calls her _“Kaori”_ which was very odd because if she remembered correctly, that was her twin sister’s name. Apparently in the real world, it’s the other way around. She was Kaori and her sister was Kaede. Team DR seemed to have mixed some real-life elements into their make-believe characters, recycling the people they actually knew into their false memories. She wasn’t sure if they lacked creativity or they did it just to be cruel.

The truth relayed to her when she woke up wasn’t an easy pill to swallow. But she grinded it until she can eventually digest it all down. If her entire being was a lie and her memories were fake, then she just had to make them all true. Start again from the beginning if you mess up. That’s how she always did it. She’s alive and still has a family. Might be a bit lacking in number but it’s still something to be thankful for.

_“Can I use the piano upstairs?”_ She finally got the courage to ask after a few days of sneaking glances at the cluttered room. It seemed to be the wrong question to ask as the woman’s face morphed into horror. Crap, she shouldn’t have said that.

Just as she thought she messed up the progress she has made to their relationship, the woman’s eyes returned to their usual softness, giving her a fond look.

_“Ah, you were a...pianist in the game, weren’t you?”_ Her mother asked, voice softer than usual. She nodded carefully.

She seemed to be pondering over something, eyes fixating on the empty plate in front of them.

_“That room was Kaede’s. She...she used to play the piano all the time.”_

It was like she was hearing about herself. She didn’t know much about her supposed twin sister, only one astounding fact: she’s dead. And she took to her grave their father’s will, forcing the fellow musician to leave his family for reasons they will never know. The tale was as broken as the woman’s heart before her.

Despite her sad eyes, she gave Kaede a warm smile—one of acceptance and nostalgia. She returned it back just the same, thinking how beautiful she looked.

_“Of course you can, Kaede.”_

The pianist’s eyes widened at the sound of her own name. That was the first time she called her that. Tears unconsciously fell from her eyes and she hurriedly tried to wipe them off of her reddening cheeks. She was pulled into a tight hug once again and she felt that same emotion pierce her heart. It was _love_.

They cleaned the room together that night, clearing away the boxes of music sheets scattered everywhere and wiping the dust from the smooth wood of the piano until it eventually began to glimmer against the light once again. She asked what she could about her sister, to which her mother merrily replied with lengthy anecdotes about the girl. Kaede noted the way her sweet voice became high and soft, a nostalgic look in her eyes as she continued with the stories. She must’ve really loved her, she thought. She really wished she could’ve met her.

She held her breath as she sat on the soft chair, the tips of her fingers glossing over the smoothness of the monochrome tiles. Her eyes close themselves as she pushed down lightly, the soft tunes all but bringing happiness to her ears. How long has it been since she last played? It felt like an eternity.

Her fingers moved expertly across the length of the keys, her eyes still closed but still perfecting each note just as she remembered them. There was no other song more fitting than Debussy’s _Rêverie_. For the nostalgia of a dream that was her past life, and for the memories of Kaede that will never be forgotten.

A quiet sniff could be heard as she finished the piece with a fade, her head turning to the woman leaning on the room’s threshold, smiling sadly at her with longing eyes.

_“It’s beautiful.”_ The woman complimented with a shaky breath. She had never felt so fulfilled performing for someone in such a long time. She hoped the message she wanted to convey got through.

She felt happy as she lied down on her bed, feeling even more sure of herself that yes, she can do this, she can survive. It will be rough but there’s still hope. She can’t give up. Her spirits lifted up even more as she read the words on her phone again and again, excitement bubbling up from her insides. It was a message from someone she wanted to see again the most. Her fingers tapped eagerly on the screen.

_“Yes, I’d love to meet with you, Saihara-kun.”_

* * *

Saihara relaxed his fists on the table only to clench them again for the umpteenth time. He licked his growingly dry lips as he glanced at his watch. It was still 25 minutes before their assigned meeting time, but he decided to come early for safe measure. He felt jumpy and all over the place despite how neat his appearance was. He figured he might as well put some extra effort in picking clothes and grooming himself. After all, he was finally seeing—

_“Saihara-kun?”_

The familiar voice was enough to make him stand up from his seat and face the source behind him. His breath caught up in his throat at the sight of the blonde pianist in front of him. She was there. In front of him. Alive. _Alive._

Akamatsu tilted her head, worry crossing her features probably because of his lack of response. He snapped himself out of it and pushed for the words swirling around his tongue.

_“I-it’s nice to see you, Akamatsu-san.”_ He managed to greet with a shaky voice. This was unreal. She _was_ real, right? Right...?

And as if the other was answering his question, Akamatsu pulled him into a loose hug. He stiffened at the contact, mind short-circuiting at what to do. His hands hovered awkwardly around the girl’s back, hesitant if he was allowed to return such an intimate gesture. The pianist tightened her arms around him even more, taking him by surprise and forcing him to grab onto something lest he loses his balance. He realized he was hugging her back.

They stayed like that long enough to garner weird looks from the other customers sitting at the cafe. He caught a glimpse of some taking out their phones and pointing the cameras at them, giggling and pointing in all familiarity of who they are. He was so distracted by the attention that he didn’t notice Akamatsu loosening her hold on him, staring up at him with a relieved look on her face.

_“I’m so happy to see you, Saihara-kun!”_ She beamed up at him, making all the blood rush to his face at the words and at the proximity. The girl seemed to have realized the situation as she reluctantly parted from him, apologizing with a small laugh.

Their little world momentarily shattered as they placed their orders, and soon returned as they were once again left alone. Akamatsu stared straight at him with a smile, observing him silently. It made him uncomfortable, but maybe not that badly. Especially since it was Akamatsu.

_“How are you doing, Akamatsu-san?”_ He started, figuring it should be a nice start to a conversation.

_“Good, good. So far, I’ve been doing fine. I mean, it wasn’t easy having a bomb dropped on you and being forced to adjust all of a sudden, but you know. Things are looking up.”_ She giggled lightheartedly at him.

Only Akamatsu Kaede can make everything seem okay while he was struggling just to keep himself together. Now that he got to see her again, everything looked brighter with the colors of his surroundings popping out even more. His vision cleared considerably, as if he had a blurry filter all along before this. His admiration of her continued to grow deep inside of him.

The pianist told him about her family—her real name, her late twin sister who was a pianist named “Kaede”, her father that she never got to meet, and her mother who’s opening up to her as each day passed by. He listened earnestly, appreciating the hope exuding out of her cheerful expressions. It warmed his heart to know that she didn’t change one bit despite knowing the truth. Still trying her best to push forward and not letting anything get her down. The symbol of ultimate hope.

_“What about you? Are you eating well? You look thinner than I last remembered...”_ Akamatsu’s voice was laced with concern, looking at him with worried eyes. He was hoping the conversation would focus more on the pianist and will not steer his way, but it seemed there was no escaping showing his own side of the coin.

There wasn’t much to tell since not much has happened to him. He still hasn’t met his parents or interacted with anyone who knew him from before. He told her about the excessive Danganronpa fantasy his past self reveled in, to which she took with uncertainty and obvious discomfort. It was repulsive, he knows. But she wrapped her hand on his own, reassuring him with a genuine smile just like that time in the classroom. A kind of familiar strength flowed through him, replacing the doubts in his mind with confidence. That was all he needed.

Their topic moved to Harukawa and Yumeno as their food was served, reminding him of an important question he was meaning to ask.

_“Oh, by the way, how was Amami-kun?”_ He asked to the girl in front of him.

Saihara didn’t miss the way she tensed visibly at the mention of the name, her resolve waning ever so slightly.

_“H-he’s alright. We text each other every now and then...”_ Akamatsu answered shortly, trailing off into silence as her eyes landed on her lap. Saihara pursed his lips in concern.

_“Are you still feeling guilty?”_ He boldly asked, and he knew it was unlike him to be so direct. Akamatsu for one didn’t expect the question as she stared at him with wide eyes. _“You do know that it wasn’t your fault, right? You weren’t the one who killed him.”_

He had to emphasize that point. The other’s eyes once again returned to her lap, shoulders slumped in defeat.

_“Y-yeah, I didn’t know what to say to him but he...he forgave me so easily. He told me that it was Shirogane-san.”_ The pianist smiled bitterly at her clenched hands, sadness evident in her downcast eyes.

_“How did you guys know about what happened in the game?”_ He asked curiously.

_“They gave us this CD after we woke up. It contained all episodes of Season 53. I couldn’t bring myself to watch it. The editing made it comical and animated.”_ Akamatsu answered with a sigh.

He wasn’t surprised. It was a television show after all. What didn’t fit well for him was that how did they manage to make murder and death comical? What kind of entertainment was that?

_“Won’t you tell it to me instead?”_ She smiled up at him with pleading eyes. _“If it’s okay with you, of course.”_

The thought of recalling what happened in the game was just as worse as reliving it, but he nodded nevertheless. She had the right to know, and he won’t take that away from her. So he told her everything, the events still fresh enough in his memories for him to give a detailed narration. The brightness Akamatsu exuded faded little by little as he got deeper into his dreadful tale, reduced to a faint light by the time he was finished.

She looked horrified even though he avoided getting too much into the murders and executions that happened. Toning it down probably didn’t do much to hide the vile nature of the story— **their** story.

_“That’s awful...”_ She groaned, breathing deeply in an effort to calm herself down. _“I can’t believe Shinguji-kun was a serial killer, or that Momota-kun had terminal illness, and Ouma-kun...”_ She covered her mouth, shaking her head in disapproval.

Dead silence hung over them, the hopeful atmosphere disappearing as they were engulfed in the memories of the game. He just let Kaede take a moment to collect herself, feeling slightly guilty that he subjected the cheerful girl to such a despairing tale. But the pianist abruptly shook her head, slapping her cheeks loudly.

_“The game’s over, and they’re recovering. We should focus on that.”_ She decided, the fire of her resolve igniting once again behind her clear eyes. A relieved smile made its way to the detective's lips. She was unyielding as ever.

Their conversation drifted to a lighter tone, chatting about random things just like old friends who were finally reunited. Saihara lost track of time as he listened to Akamatsu's calming voice. It was already late in the afternoon before they knew it, their supposed lunch on the small cafe became an overstay of sorts.

_"Thanks for inviting me out, Saihara-kun. It was really good to see you."_ Akamatsu bowed at him as they hovered in front of the shop.

_"Thank you too for seeing me. Sorry it was on such a short notice. I...I'm happy I was able to see you again, Akamatsu-san."_ He returned the gesture, earning yet another awkward stares from people passing by. He learned it was one of those rare times that he didn't seem to care about the unneeded attention. They broke into a laugh afterwards and bid their own farewells to each other, as well as a promise to keep in touch. To be honest, he wanted to spend more time with the pianist, but figured that there will still be a next time to look forward to.

He felt considerably lighter as he walked back to his house, head held high and a skip in his step. Now he actually looks forward to the upcoming days at the chance of their other classmates waking up. Maybe something good will happen.

The feeling was similar to back then, courage coursing through his veins to face the harsh and unforgiving truth. For the second time, he cast away the now invisible cap on his head in exchange of a clearer view of what’s ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! Writing back stories for these characters was really fun~ And writing Akamatsu gives me hope. Eventually more characters appearing in the next chapter! 
> 
> Thank you for those who liked it! Hope you enjoyed reading this and stay tuned for more!
> 
> P.S. You can visit my tumblr, lunaillumina.tumblr.com, if you want. I draw some NDRV3 stuff.


	3. Afterward

Meeting his parents wasn’t as nerve-wracking as he thought it would be. It was pretty anticlimactic actually. His mother gave him a peck on the cheek and scanned him from feet up.

_ “There’s something different about you, Shouto.”  _ She pointed out, holding his chin and moving his head slightly to the side. 

_ “You finally look all grown up, son.”  _ His father patted his back, a proud grin on his face. 

Hearing his real name didn’t feel right, but he didn’t bother correcting them. It was the true one anyway. Although he still preferred being called “Shuichi” above all else. 

The two of them looked very formal and strict--business clothes and all--with an air of practiced sophistication. They decided to celebrate the small reunion with a fancy dinner at some restaurant that his past lifestyle never would have managed to afford. They didn’t seem to be too bothered that he lost all memories of them and that the one in their midst was already an entirely different person from the son they once knew. If anything, they seemed to be alright with it, almost too lenient for a parent whose son just decided to join a killing game. The situation didn’t sit well with him, theories already formulating in his detective mind if their uncaring attitude was one of the reasons why he joined Danganronpa. No, him being a hardcore fan was obviously the true reason. It just so happened that he had two adults who didn’t seem to care enough to talk him out of it.

The strong smell of coffee and newspapers flitted through his mind, and he remembered his uncle slouched on the study table, telling him of the latest case he’s working on and asking for an outsider’s opinion. It was one of the few moments he cherished back then, a haven he wanted to preserve. Just him and his uncle pointing out the flaws in each other’s deductions until they come up with an epiphany. But he’ll never experience any of that ever again. Well, he never  **_did_ ** experience that in the first place.  He sighed in defeat as he took a bite of the venison that was probably more expensive than the clothes he was wearing.

_ “I almost forgot about his enrollment. I’ll drop by his school tomorrow.”  _ His mother’s high-pitched voice caught his attention as she conversed with his father.

_ “School?”  _ He repeated, dread building up in the pits of his stomach. 

_ “Why yes, dear. You’re just in your second year of highschool. You need to graduate so you can go to a prestigious university.”  _ His mother said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Right. He  _ is _ a highschool student.

The thought haunted him on the way home. The last time he went to school, well, let’s just say it wasn’t much of a pleasant experience being forced to kill each other.

* * *

It was Hoshi Ryoma that woke up next. Just like with Akamatsu, he only knew about it a few days after he was discharged when he decided to drop by for a visit alone. He asked for his classmate’s contact details, surprised to see the tennis player’s hometown. Sapporo. That’s really far. He silently wished that Hoshi had people waiting for him at home.

His visits were becoming more frequent, sometimes with Harukawa and Yumeno, only once with Akamatsu since she lived quite far away. Usually he was alone, deciding to see his other classmates whenever he got tired of being surrounded by all the Danganronpa elements in his room, which was all the time. The staff probably became used to him, paying him little to no attention and allowing him to just waltz in and out of their building. He doesn’t stay too long, usually just lingering in Momota’s room and giving a quick check on the others. Sometimes he enters each of their rooms, but never the one at the end of the hallway, although it’s the one he spends the most time staring at through the glass window. He had tried many times, but he only ever gets as far as clutching the doorknob with sweaty palms. Hesitation always overwhelms him and he allows it to freeze him on the spot. It was as if the room had barricade tape all over it, a crime scene he wasn’t allowed to investigate. But isn’t that just him finding more excuses not to see the Supreme Leader? 

By now, he can already see the faint sleeping figure of Ouma, the intimidating machineries surrounding him reduced to a few number. One time, he witnessed a lot of nurses fussing around inside the room, panic and distress evident in their faces. 

_ “Don’t worry, nothing’s wrong.” _ They casually told him with a nervous smile when they realized he was standing outside the room.

It was such an obvious lie that Ouma will probably laugh if he heard it. It was one of the rare times he stayed longer, observing what the nurses were doing to their patient and trying to figure out what’s wrong, but to no avail. He caught a momentary glimpse of Ouma when they were removing some of the wires connected to his head, those purple locks unmistakeable from the whiteness of the room. One of the nurses came up to talk to him after things have died down, inviting herself to stand beside him.

_ “You must be very worried for Ouma-kun.”  _ The nurse started, giving him an apologetic smile. He gave an unsure laugh in return, scratching the back of his neck. Was he?

_ “Something...unexpected happened to the nerve cells of his brain and it took us by surprise, but his condition is stable now.”  _ The nurse reassured him.  _ “His recovery is unusually fast, considering the damage he took in the game. He might wake up earlier than expected.” _

The nurse’s words planted feelings akin to hope deep inside him. She then asked if he wanted to see how Ouma was doing, to which he politely refused.

A few days after that, Momota woke up. He was at his house when he received a call from Harukawa, telling him of the good news. He rushed to the building without bothering to change his clothes to a more presentable one.

_ “Yo, Shuichi!”  _ Momota greeted when they saw each other, grinning at him from the building’s lobby as if it was just like any other day. His lips stretched into a wide smile at the sight of his friend, walking closer to where he and Harukawa was standing. 

_ “I’m glad that you’re finally awake, Momota-kun.”  _ He beamed, trying to hold back the happiness that was threatening to explode. 

_ “Yeah, I missed you! But man, that was crazy. To think all of that was a simulation. I almost didn’t believe it.”  _ Momota shook his head grimly.  _ “But we’re alive! I knew it will work out in the end.”  _ He recovered quickly, giving Harukawa and him a thumbs up.

_ “You’re as carefree as ever.”  _ Harukawa scoffed at their friend’s easy-going attitude, her soft gaze betraying her sharp words. Momota replied with a snarky remark, sending the assassin to retort back. And they revert back to their usual routine just like that. Saihara can’t help but smile warmly as he observed the two. It was just like old times.

They chatted in the lobby for quite some time, the two of them helping the astronaut catch up with what happened at the last trial as well as the state of their classmates.

_ “I see. So Kaede, Amami and Hoshi are already awake. That’s good. I’m sure the others are going to wake up in no time.”  _ He gave them a reassuring smile, and Saihara believed even more that it will be the case. Momota’s natural sense of trustworthiness was what kept them grounded in the game and it didn’t change now.

Their conversation was abrupted when Harukawa told them she had to go due to family matters. Saihara figured he should give them some time alone and excused himself to go to the restroom. When he returned, only Momota was waiting for him.

_ “Hey Shuichi, can we go to this hospital floor you mentioned? There’s someone I wanted to visit before going home.”  _ Momota asked him with a serious look in his eyes. Saihara could only nod, already having an inkling as to who he was pertaining to.

He accompanied the astronaut in checking the rest of their sleeping classmates through the rooms’ glass windows. Momota’s grin didn’t quite reach his eyes as he reminisced about some of them.

_ “Where’s that guy...” _ The astronaut mumbled under his breath, scanning the rooms they passed by.

_ “Are you looking for Ouma-kun?”  _ He asked despite already knowing the answer to his question. He returned the astronaut’s surprised look with an understanding one, taking the lead towards the Supreme Leader’s room. Momota silently followed him to the end of the hallway.

He was briefly reminded of himself as he watched Momota clutch the doorknob with a shaky hand, taking a few deep breaths before eventually entering. Saihara watched the astronaut walk closer to the middle of the room, stopping at the foot of the bed. His eyes were trained to his mouth as it began to subtly move. The door was slightly ajar, some of the words reaching his ears if he focused enough.

_ “...I lost the bet, you win. So you better wake up soon.” _

He didn’t realize he was leaning so close to the door, almost crossing the threshold if he so much as took a step. Momota noticed him hovering awkwardly, raising a brow at him as he walked to where he was.

_ “What are you doing there? Come on.”  _

_ “Wait--” _

Momota grabbed his arm and pulled him inside before he can even refuse. He almost tripped over his own feet with the unsure steps he was taking, mind still processing that yes, all it took was Momota Kaito to make him enter the room he had been avoiding for weeks. His eyes landed on the sleeping boy in front of them.

A ventilator mask covered almost half of his face but he can see the distinguishable features of the Supreme Leader. Somehow, he looked different.

His skin was pale—so pale and ashen that he doubted any blood flows through inside. The darkness of his hair was discolored into a lighter version and was considerably longer than it used to be. He looked vulnerable--a state Ouma never would have allowed them to see. He didn’t realize that he was holding his breath, waiting for those big, purple eyes to open and Ouma sprinting up to tell him,  _ “It’s a lie!”  _ or something like that. But it never came.

_ “He definitely looks innocent like that.”  _ Momota snorted at their classmate’s sleeping figure. He thought so too. No one would ever expect that such atrocious lies could come out of the boy in front of them if they ever saw him like this. Yet another deceiving nature of Ouma Kokichi.

Momota’s uncharacteristic silence kept him occupied enough to ignore the dizziness he was feeling from recalling what happened in the hangar. The other must be feeling it too, the color in his face slowly fading and his jaw tense as he stared at Ouma.

_ “I--” _

_ “I--” _

The two of them started at the same time, giving each other a surprised look.

_ “You can go first, Momota-kun.”  _ Saihara gave way, Momota giving him a weak smile.

_ “Okay...Er, I, that is--”  _ The astronaut fumbled with his words, scratching the back of his head with uncertainty.  _ “I just want to apologize again. You know...for that trial.” _

They both knew which trial Momota was talking about.

_ “It’s alright. You had your reasons.”  _ Saihara replied with an understanding smile.  _ “Although, I still find it hard to believe that you agreed to Ouma-kun’s plan.” _

_ “Yeah, me too. It was crazy.  _ **_He_ ** _ was crazy.”  _ Momota shook his head.

_ “But you still helped him.” _

_ “Yeah...”  _ Momota smiled bitterly at the sleeping boy.  _ “It was sly of him to ask me of all people. I was already a dead man walking, and he knew that. Then there’s that issue about HaruMaki too. He had all the cards, and he knew I wouldn’t be able to say no. Hell, he always knew everything didn’t he?” _

Saihara would have concluded that the astronaut was angry, but his lifted eyes said otherwise.  _ “You’ve really come to not dislike Ouma-kun.”  _ The detective observed with a quirk of his lips.

_ “Huh?! Who would like this little shit?”  _ Momota reacted loudly, feigned disgust all over his face.  _ “He’s manipulative, condescending, and overall an asshole.” _

The insults successively came out of Momota’s mouth in a snarl, and Saihara can’t help but to crease his brows at the profanities being thrown at their oblivious classmate.

_ “He’s an asshole, but...I thought he was pretty damn cool back then...”  _ Momota’s voice trailed off into the distance along with his stare, a proud grin in his face.

_ Respect _ . That’s the only thing he can discern from his friend’s words. Who would’ve thought that two people who are polar opposites would be able to work so well together? It was possible, but for it to happen in a short span of time was beyond him.

_ “But I still don’t like him.”  _ Momota abruptly declared, turning to him as if asking for his approval.

_ “Okay.”  _ Saihara agreed with a small smile despite knowing better. He’ll let the other figure it out on his own.

The astronaut bid his farewell, hugging him tightly.

_ “See you, Shuichi! Don’t forget to text or call, yeah?.”  _ Momota winked at him with a grin.

_ “Yeah, I will. See you, Momota-kun.”  _ He waved as he watched the car disappear into the distance.

On his way home, he sent a short text to Akamatsu about Momota’s recovery, to which she happily received with much relief.

As the pianist said, things are finally looking up.

* * *

_ "You look considerably better than the last time we met.”  _ His therapist commented as he took a seat in the quicksand that was the sofa. He just gave an awkward laugh in response. He certainly didn’t look any different the last time he checked in the mirror.

_ “It’s definitely an improvement.”  _  She praised.  _ “So, how have you been? Anything interesting that happened for the past two weeks?” _

Just like last time, it took some time for him to answer the simple question, but at least now he was able to will the words out of his mouth.  _ “I...I’ve been good. Some of the others were able to wake up so...”  _ He trailed off with a nod, sounding as if he was convincing himself more than his therapist.

_ "Really? That’s great to hear. That explains the change of mood.”  _ She jotted down on her pad, giving him a subtle once-over.  _ “Tell me about the ones that woke up. Who they are and your relationship with them.” _

It was surprising how easily he complied to the request, finding the words easily rolling out of his tongue with just a little coaxing every now and then from her. He was probably saying more than he ought to but it felt good to let it all out after days and days of bottling it all in, just having himself and his thoughts talk to each other in an endless loop. Sanity was slowly coming back to him, and he actually felt that the whole therapy thing might actually work.

_ “It seems that the ones closest to you have regained their consciousness.”  _ The therapist observed, writing down the vital information.  _ “Is there anyone else that you’re hoping to wake up soon? Of course you want all of them to recover, but is there someone specific on your mind?” _

The question wasn’t the one that took him aback, but rather how quick the answer came to his mind. It seems he can’t deny the thought any longer.

_ “Yes...Ouma Kokichi.”  _ He answered quietly, gaze locking on the knuckles clenched on top of his knees.  _ “We weren’t exactly friends, but I...” _

The words lose themselves in his throat, reverting back to his meek nature. He what? He didn’t know. Or he just didn’t want to recognize the ugly horns rearing from his intentions. He didn’t dare add any more to his cliffhanger.

_“Hm.”_ His therapist hummed in acknowledgment, as if understanding his thoughts exactly. She once again wrote something down. _“You’re visibly distressed. Does that have something to do with this person you’ve mentioned?”_

His mouth opened to reply, only to close in reluctance.

_ “It’s alright. We don’t have to talk about it right now.”  _ She smiled reassuringly at him, but her words hint that they will have to talk about it eventually in the near future.

The session ended with that, the therapist telling him to come back after a week. He wondered if he’ll be able to avoid giving her a silent treatment the next time around.

* * *

School never felt appealing to him nor was it the bane of his life. For him it’s just a platform to absorb basic knowledge and develop his character, as well as build the social skills he needed before going out into society. His first year in high school flew by in a blur. Being branded as the Super Highschool Level Detective, he spent more time at crime scenes than sitting down in a classroom, which the school tolerated since they treated him as the pride of their institution. At one point, he treated going to school as no longer necessary and thought about focusing on his detective work until he was eventually scouted by Hope’s Peak Academy. And the rest was history.

Fake history.

He clutched the bag on his shoulder as he trudged along the gates of his supposed highschool. It was an all-boys private school with serious financial terms. Everybody looked high-class with their chauffeurs and fancy cars, while he opted to just walk from his house. It was quite the length, but nothing to sweat much about.

Every student he passes by looks at him a second longer than necessary. He had anticipated the unwanted attention, but it was still unsettling nevertheless. After all, most of Danganronpa’s audience were teenagers, of course they’ll recognize him. It just worsened when he stepped into the halls of the school, all eyes glued to him like predators on their prey. It’s fine, it’s fine, he repeated, but his stomach was flipping like a broken turnstile.

When he entered his classroom, he expected the worst when the room fell silent, almost every student turning to his direction. He gulped audibly and gave a forced smile at no one in particular. Then the room erupted in a loud cheer, his classmates clapping their hands for him save for a few others that just stared at him. He didn’t know how to react to such a confusing display, and he would’ve just stood there like an idiot if one of his classmates didn’t wrap their arm on his shoulder in a friendly grip.

_ “Congratulations, man! We were all rooting for you to win!” _ They boy beamed at him proudly.

_ “Do I know you?”  _ Was what he wanted to say, but the chaos around him made it impossible to speak.

Questions bombarded him in every direction, the number of students gathering around him increasing every second. It was amazing how even though he hasn’t uttered a single word, they just kept talking and talking among themselves, keeping the animated conversation running without his participation. There were too many voices, too many faces, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe through the commotion. Everybody was reaching out to him like they were all the best of friends in his past life. He really doubted that was the case.

Thankfully, he was saved by the bell. Literally. His classmates dispersing around him reluctantly with their self-imposed promise of his storytelling later on. He made a note to think of a way to escape such predicament.

It was probably time for homeroom, all of them going back to their respective seats in growing silence. From what he experienced earlier, he was shocked they were capable of such self-discipline.  

The door slid open and a teacher walked in. Same old, same old, stand and bow. When he raised his head, familiarizing himself with their homeroom teacher’s face, he realized there was no need for such. He already knew who it was.

_ “Uncle?” _ He blurted out, noticing that his classmates had already taken their seats except for him. They all turned to him, his supposed “uncle” giving him a curious look.

_ “Uncle?” _ The teacher repeated with that familiar voice Saihara was so accustomed with.  _ “What are you talking about, kid?” _ He even speaks like him.

_ “Actually, sir!” _ One student raised his hand, eyes gleaming in enthusiasm.  _ “You were the inspiration for Saihara’s father figure in Danganronpa, his uncle.” _

Saihara’s heart ached at the words. Of course that was the case. There was no way his uncle would have existed in this real world. Well, he did physically exist but as an entirely different person who just happened to have the exact same face. How cruel.

_ “Danganronpa? That strange TV show you young’uns are going crazy about?” _

_ “It’s not strange! It’s art!” _

He resigned himself to his seat throughout the whole exchange, listening to his classmates chatter about the cursed game while their teacher just gave a disappointed shake of the head.

As soon as lunch came, Saihara made sure to excuse himself as stealthily as he can. He didn’t want to hear about Danganronpa for an hour nor did he want to talk about it. The restroom seemed to be the ideal choice for isolation, but it was too cramped for his liking. And he wasn’t fond of high places, so the rooftop was out of the options. He just let his feet take him wherever along the school grounds, keeping his head low enough to at least conceal his face. Before he knew it, he was trudging along a deserted field brimming with untamed grass. It didn’t seem to be of use by any of the clubs at the moment; in fact it looked like it had been a long time since it was actually used. It was an odd addition compared to the prestigious buildings at the other sidel, but he figured it will do. If anything, it was perfect.

He walked closer to the visible wire fence securing the perimeter, gazing at what’s beyond. There was a wide building at the far end, more rundown and aged compared to theirs, but it looked like it was also a school of sorts. He could only make out blobs of it, but he was sure there were some students wearing a traditional black uniform in the distance.

He rested his back on the fence, not caring how uncomfortable it felt, because at least he can finally let out the breath he was holding back since a while ago. He didn’t want to go back. He didn’t want to be pried to tell a story each one of them probably already knew. He didn’t want to answer questions about that game.

A sigh escaped his lips, already accepting his inevitable fate. Time was running out and his momentary bliss was about to end. He had to steel himself. All the hype and the excitement--it will eventually pass. He just had to endure a little more.

Afternoon lessons flew by quickly, not that he was paying that much attention anyways. He was about to briskly walk out of the room when he was suddenly called out by his homeroom teacher.

_ “Ah, Saihara. Stay for a bit.” _

They waited for everyone to exit the room, his classmates giving him energetic farewells, to which he just responded with a quaint smile.

He wasn’t confident he can keep his composure talking to his uncle--teacher that looked like his uncle--face to face alone. The situation was already peculiar enough as it is. He wondered what was in store for him as he sat down on the table closest to the teacher’s desk.

_ “So, I heard you pushed through into joining that game.”  _ His teacher commented, looking at him with disapproving eyes. _ “I can tell it wasn’t as fun as you made it out to be last time.” _

He met his eye questioningly.  _ “Last time?” _

_ “Right. They replaced your memories didn’t they?” _ Another shook of the head.  _ “You asked my advice whether you should join or not.” _

_ “...What did you say?” _ He asked slowly.

_ “What else? Of course I said no. They make it all sound harmless, but that game can do you more harm than you ought to know. Not physically, but here.”  _ The teacher tapped his temple as he explained.  _ “Well kid, was it worth it?” _

The question kept him quiet, even though the answer danced at the tip of his tongue.

_ “I figured as much. Young people like you need to learn the hard way, eh?” _ His teacher gave a light chuckle, and it sounded so much like his uncle’s.

_ “I…” _ He started, gulping down the hesitation.  _ “I did regret it. I still do, even now. But there’s no use getting caught up in my bad decisions. I’ll...I’ll use everything that I learned in there to move forward.” _

Surprise colored his teacher’s face before breaking off into a grin he was all too familiar with.

_ “You’ve changed, kid. It’s those eyes of yours. They’re a lot clearer now.”  _ He chuckled once again.  _ “At least something good came out of that game.” _

_ “Yeah.” _ He smiled at the older man.

_ “Alright, just checking on you. Seems fine. Run along now.” _

_ “Thanks, Unc--er, sir.” _ He stumbled with his words, inwardly scolding himself for almost calling him uncle again. He made his way towards the door to save himself from any more embarrassment.

_ “No problem. Take care, son.” _

His eyes widened at the term of endearment directed at him, but he didn’t dare turn around. Not with tears threatening to come out of the edge of his eyes. He could only suffice a sharp nod before walking away.

The concern felt too real.

* * *

Visiting the Supreme Leader became somewhat of a routine for him. The second time, after Momota dragged him inside the room, he was still overcome with hesitation, pacing in front of the room like an idiot. But he managed to enter it one way or another, and things became much smoother after that.

It was exhilarating to be the only one to see Ouma in such a vulnerable state. To witness the steady rise and fall of his chest, his face devoid of that usual playful smirk. It was the closest he can get to a genuine expression. No masks or facade or anything like that. Just indefinite slumber.

He can tell his condition was getting better, the numerous wires bounding him in the past now reduced to a few important-looking ones connected to his head.

There wasn’t much to do but observe the Supreme Leader, and yet he’s able to stay for hours on weekends, sometimes with a book on hand. He didn’t try to one-sidedly hold a conversation with him like what they do in the movies, instead he just sits in silence. Waiting, waiting, and waiting.

Akamatsu was more than happy to read about his weekly reports on their classmates’ conditions. She became his constant chatmate, the two of them confiding to each other about the things that have been happening to them.

He found out that she was also continuing her education, along with Amami who attended the same school. It seems that their relationship was getting better. Harukawa and Yumeno also started going to school at their local neighborhood. Meanwhile, Momota told him that he was scouted by an aerospace agency and was invited to train in their facility. It was a dream come true for the Super Highschool Level Astronaut.

A few months have already passed since they woke up from the game, and he was just wading through the days without much happening. School wasn’t a nuisance now that his classmates have gone docile since they have already exhausted him of his first-hand experience of the game. Just like any other fad, their interest on him eventually died down. A human’s attention span was really something.

His own self-investigation was also nearing its end, gathering nothing more than what he already knew. He was just that--a Danganronpa-crazed teenager. He didn’t really know why he expected something much deeper than that, hoping that there was more dimensions to his past self. It was underwhelming.

Although there was still one thing he hasn’t explored yet: the computer seating at his desk. No surprises, it was protected by a password. And he had no idea what it could be. Today would be his 46th attempt. He had been researching about Danganronpa for the past week, reading about articles, binge-watching each season and writing down possible passwords despite the feeling of nausea every time an execution flashes on the screen. He figured it was related to the game somehow.

Tapping on the keyboard thoughtfully, he racked his brain for any ideas. None of the words he listed seemed to be working. He clicked the hint for the umpteenth time, staring at the digit on the screen: “1”. One...First...The first season?

Ah. Maybe it wasn’t a word.

Not expecting much, he decided to input the first thing that came to his mind. 1-1-0-3-7. The very first murder from the very first season.

…

The welcome logo loaded, and he let out an exhausted sigh. Finally.

The files look normal enough, mostly were school-related. There were a lot of pictures concerning Danganronpa, as well as a complete collection of the Danganronpa series. Not much surprises in there.

Among the sea of pictures, there were some containing real-life imagery. Sceneries and events which mostly didn’t include him. As he stared at one of the photos of him and his parents, he felt estranged by his own self. Like he didn’t know the person on the digital screen. He skimmed through the rest of the images, quickly scanning through the faces that was part of his past. Some of them must have been his friends.

A particular photo showed a dark-haired boy--with hair almost of a purple shade--drinking through a straw with eyes glued on his own phone. He clicked the next button.

Wait.

He swiftly went back to the photo, a feeling of faint recognition fleeting through him. The boy was clad in a black uniform contrasting the pale skin beneath. The glint of violet can be seen in his downcast eyes. It seemed like he was in some kind of a fast-food restaurant, and he had no knowledge that a picture of him was being taken.

Is that--No, it doesn’t make sense. Or does it? Surely, the chances are low, but it wasn’t unthinkable.

They’ve met before.

* * *

The next one to wake up was the Super High School Level Inventor, Iruma Miu. To say that she created quite the scene was an understatement. She definitely gave the staff a piece of her mind before walking out of their lives. He wasn’t sure if it was unfortunate or actually fortunate to not have witnessed that himself. The nurses who became somewhat of an acquaintance to him was more than happy to relay what happened.

Tojo Kirumi woke up the very next day, as calm and collected as ever. The hospital floor felt even more deserted now that its occupants were down to five.

He entered Ouma’s room just as scheduled--every Friday after school. He opened his phone, navigating to the gallery and bringing up the picture that had been bothering him for days. He looked at it, then to the sleeping boy, then back again. There’s no doubt.

_ “You just keep surprising me don’t you, Ouma-kun?” _ He chuckled to himself.

Harukawa called him out one time when they decided to visit together, coincidentally it was also the day that Chabashira Tenko and Yonaga Angie woke up to an ever-happy Yumeno.

_ “You’ve been visiting that guy a lot lately.” _ She said, turning her head towards the big room as they let the three girls have their time.

_ “I guess…” _ He replied unsurely, trying to gauge where the conversation was heading.

_ “Really, why are you so concerned about him? It’s not like you guys were friends.” _ Harukawa crossed her arms, giving him an expectant look. It just means she won’t let him off until he gives a sufficient answer.

_ “Even though we weren’t friends, I still...I want him to recover.” _ He explained, and it was the truth. Somewhere deep inside him, was a growing hope that the Supreme Leader will wake up soon. As for what comes after that, well, he’ll leave it up to the future Saihara.

Harukawa hummed in acknowledgment, still giving him a wary look.

He didn’t know why he was compelled to explain himself. As if what he’s been doing for the past few months was criminal.

It certainly was unlike him to decide to visit Ouma Kokichi regularly of all people. Especially after what happened in the game, who would? Any outsider would arch their brows and find it strange. Even he himself. But there was something that just draws him in, it makes him come back again and again and again to the big room at the end of the hallway, despite the mixed feelings that never failed to accompany him.

_ “You’re interested in him. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out.” _ Harukawa replied confidently, looking at him for confirmation.  _ “He’s a big ball of mystery. Of course, knowing how nosy you can be, you won’t stop until you have all the answers.” _

_ “N-nosy?” _

But she really hit the bullseye on that one. He blames it on the detective instincts running through his blood.

* * *

It’s been a couple of months after Chabashira and Angie woke up. It’s becoming colder and colder as winter was slowly approaching.

It was a particularly cloudy day, no sun and a strong breeze blew every now and then. He momentarily removed his jacket as he jogged through the all-too-familiar hallway, the centralized heater of the building providing him some warmth.

It’s been almost half a year since the game ended. Six months of conversing with Akamatsu about random things. Six months of going to school. Six months of visiting the Super Highschool Level Supreme Leader.

Today he brought something--a sort of offering or celebratory gift for enduring the half year. It was just a random thought when he passed through a convenience store on his way. The purple liquid fizzed as the bottle slightly moved in the plastic bag.

He liked this, right? Panta.

When he entered the room, he immediately noticed the difference in the usual setting. No more machines surrounded the bed, save for the heart monitor on the side. The individual that once lied down on the white bed was now sitting up, face covered by his hand and hair as he clutched the side of his forehead.

He dropped the plastic bag he was carrying, the misplaced sound in the otherwise quiet room making the boy in front of him raise his head. Those amethyst eyes directed at him froze him on the spot.

_ “O-Ouma-kun?”  _ He called out with a barely audible voice, just to make sure that what he’s seeing is real.

Ouma blinked at him, taking his time to respond. He held his breath as he waited for the Supreme Leader to speak. And when he did, he felt the hope that’s been burning inside of him shatter into a million unrecognizable pieces.

_ “Who...are you?” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy~ So Ouma finally wakes up! This was sort of a transition chapter, but the main focus of the story will be SaiOuma from this point on. Hope you're as excited as I am!
> 
> Also, thank you for the kudos, for those who commented, and those who read this fic. I really appreciate it! This is really fun to write, but it does take time since I write pretty long chapters. But stay tuned for more!
> 
> See you on the next one :]]


	4. Afterworld

He swore he could hear the fizzing of the soda as it rolled on the floor. It’s just him, Ouma, and the deafening silence as their company. It wasn’t much different from the usual setup that he grew accustomed to whenever he visited the Supreme Leader, but with the exception of wide, purple eyes staring at him, awaiting an answer to the question.

Thoughts raced through his mind as he processed the situation. Amnesia? But they said there won’t be any permanent damage. Were they lying after all? Or was this an unexpected occurrence?

Ouma’s gaze seemed to have drifted downward to the forgotten plastic bag on the floor. He cocked his head to the side.

 _“What’s that?”_ He asked, and it had that same childish tone that the detective knew. One of pure curiosity and playfulness albeit sounding hoarse from lack of use probably.

 _“Ah…I-I brought you Panta.”_ Saihara hurriedly picked up the soda, taking unsure steps towards the bed.

A quick glint of excitement flashed through the other’s eyes, only to die down the next second, leaving him wondering if it was just his imagination. He offered the bag, which Ouma accepted with a smile that was way too different from his usual toothy grins. Their fingers grazed lightly, and it was enough for Saihara’s awareness to heighten.

The part where their skin met burned with unparalleled heat.

Watching the Supreme Leader inspect the purple liquid, he noted the changes in the other's appearance. The length of his hair was more obvious now that he was sitting up, going past his collarbone and shoulders, but still maintaining their gravity-defying curve. The white hospital gown almost blended with his pale skin, reminding him of the strange attire he wore in the game.

 _"Ouma-kun?”_ He let the name roll out of his tongue, calling the other’s attention without much thought. Ouma looked up at him, all innocent-like and different from how his sharp eyes used to pierce through Saihara.

He didn’t know where to start just as expected. He figured those months of envisioning how this scene will play out--what words he will say and what questions he will ask--might actually prepare him for the actual moment, but he couldn’t have imagined it would be in such circumstances. Nevertheless, he gulped down the hesitation he spent most of his time dwelling on.

_“You really...don’t remember anything?”_

Their gazes locked and he tried, but couldn't get a read on the smaller boy's expression. Ouma was the first to break it off, casting his eyes downward, as if on thought. He patiently waited for the response.

Being this close to the Supreme Leader, he could see the subtle movements of his face. The almost-blink of his eyelids, the twitch in the corners of his lips, and the tension in his jaws. He wondered if he observed Ouma this well in the game, he would've had an inkling--a sort of clue--as to which is a fake expression and which is real.

Ouma gave him an unreadable look and slowly parted his lips, about to say something when the door behind them suddenly opened.

 _“Oh! Saihara-kun, you're here.”_  A nurse sauntered over them, clothes on one hand and a tablet on the other. She gave the clothes to Ouma.  _“Sorry to interrupt, but can I ask you to wait in the lobby upstairs?”_

 _“Ah, sure.”_  He answered mindlessly, too disgruntled by the previous revelations to put up a fight. He obediently left the room, giving a final glance to Ouma who just stared blankly at him as he closed the door.

Waiting at the lobby left him anxious, head leaning on his intertwined knuckles with his feet tapping impatiently on the floor. After what felt like a lifetime of going in circles with his thoughts, Ouma finally showed up, clad in a black uniform paired with a backpack. He looked about ready to go to school.

He stood up from his seat, getting the attention of the Supreme Leader as he walked past him. Ouma turned to him with slight surprise before easing into a neutral face.

 _“Are you going?”_  Saihara asked.

Ouma nodded shortly and turned on his heel without a word, the detective noticing the listlessness in the other’s expression. Saihara reached out his hand as if to stop the Supreme Leader who’s getting farther and farther away. But he couldn't get a word out nor did his feet follow the other's steps.

 _“Hey.”_  Ouma called out from the building's doors, their eyes meeting sending a familiar chill down Saihara’s spine. He felt the same tingling sensation as Ouma’s lips stretched to a smirk that he knew all too well.  _“Goodbye, Saihara-chan.”_

Saihara found himself stunned at the farewell and the mention of his name, but Ouma was gone as soon as the realization hit him.

It amazed him how the most probable possibility never crossed his mind. Maybe he’s still that naive after all. He's been deceived by Ouma Kokichi once again.

* * *

That was completely unnecessary if he say so himself. He could’ve let Saihara forever believe that he forgot everything and cut off anything that had to do with him. That was the most favorable outcome. But he couldn't stop the reflex; finding it hard to fight the urge inside him to witness the detective's confused face whenever he leaves behind small clues for him to think about. It has become an addiction at this point, even though the personality known as Ouma Kokichi was just a make-believe. A farce deeply grounded into him. It was hilarious, really. He lied so much and it turned out that he was a lie himself. It was poetic justice and he couldn't be more amused.

It wasn't like he never took the idea into consideration back then. He had formulated a number of hypotheses, most waking moments spent analyzing possibilities. His simulation theory was fun to think of, but he immediately disregarded it as being too far-fetched and ridiculous. And that's something, coming from him of all people.

There's nothing to it. He lost. Big deal. He just purposely let two people experience death for nothing. The memory of Iruma's anguished face and Gonta's pierced stomach made the acid rise to his throat, but he willed it to stay down. No big deal, not at all.

Well, maybe he actually won? He has to watch the CD given to him to answer that. But it doesn't really matter anymore either way. It's all so stupid. Usually he’s the one pulling the pranks, but now he just got a dose of his own medicine.  

He gulped down the rest of the Panta, already lukewarm but it still did its job of boosting his mood. At least Panta stayed consistent and real.

He knew Tokyo like the back of his hand. It was his playground.  _Their_ playground. Alleys to hang out on, shortcuts to take, walls to vandalize--as he walked through the crowded streets, he relishes in the life the city breathes out. It never changes.

It was getting chilly, and being clad in nothing more than a school uniform in the middle of autumn was already a bad beginning to his unfolding nightmare. He never liked the cold. Although he was highly tolerant of extreme temperatures, there were too many unnecessary memories linked with the sensation. He has always, always preferred the warmth of summer.

Lucky for him he's already standing in front of the address written on his phone. It irked him how that only took 15 minutes to walk.

A rundown apartment complex stood in his view. He didn't really have any expectations as he went up the second floor, the metal stairs creaking under his weight. Well, it wasn't like he ever had anything close to a house back then to compare to. Maybe DICE's frequently changing hideouts could be called 'home'.

He closed his eyes at the thought of his family--no, that part was a lie too. No use thinking about it. About them. As he stood in front of the apartment door bearing the number '207', he can't help but wonder what kind of people await him inside.

He pushed the doorbell button after a few minutes of empty contemplation, but no sound was produced. He tried again, and again, before concluding that it was, in fact, not working. He knocked lightly on the metal door, realizing how stupid it looked knocking at his own house.

After 5 minutes of no response, he didn't hesitate turning the knob. He was cold and he would even result in lock-picking the door if he had to. To his surprise, it wasn't locked, the door opening with ease. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes mixed with a few other misplaced odors greeted him--scents that used to envelop him in the past.

The house was a mess, making it seem even smaller and cramped due to the random things and trash strewn about here and there. He stepped inside, not bothering to shout a greeting as the place seemed deserted anyway. It was a standard apartment with a small kitchen, small living room, a common CR, and 2 bedrooms. First and foremost, he turned on the heater, since it was just as cold outside. The apartment must have seen better days, but was now reduced to dirt, with dust everywhere and washed out paint.

Eh, it looks fine. He's not one to be picky. Although he wanted to wretch from the smell itself. The Monokuma sticker posted on one of the doors caught his attention. That must be his room. He figured he was infatuated with the franchise, from the wallpaper on his phone and key chains on his bag. But he's yet to figure out why he joined something as fucked up as that stupid game. He trudged towards it nevertheless, allowing his curiosity to gain free reign over him as always. He swore he'll be killed one of these days because of it. Oh wait, he already was.

The room was tidy compared to the rest of the house. A futon laid neatly on the center of the room, a small TV on the corner along with a game console, and stacks of books and manga leaning on the wall. It was a simple set-up--nice, even--with the bed enticing him to just fall into it and get some sleep. God knows when the last time he had a proper one. He was about to consider the idea when he heard light footsteps behind him.

 _“Nii…?”_ A small voice called out, and he whipped his head towards the source, adrenaline kicking in as his awareness skyrocketed. He didn't sense--

The sight left him dumbfounded. There, standing on the room's doorway was a girl with long, brown hair that was too reminiscent of someone he knew very well, and a face that was too familiar for comfort. Doe, hazel eyes stared back at him, seemingly in a daze. But what really left him shocked was her lack of clothes.

 _“It really is...you...nii…”_  The girl slowly spoke before running to him, wrapping her lithe arms around his torso and hugging him tightly.

If it were on a normal occasion, he would've dodged that from the get go, but he found himself stunned. He looked down on the head buried in his chest, focusing his eyes on the face slowly peering up at him.

…It  **is**  her.

He grit his teeth, stopping his emotions from having any chance to come to fruition. Just when he had come to terms that he will never see any DICE member ever again, one shows up in the most unexpected fashion and even turns out to be his sister. Despite his mood worsening by the second, he stretched his lips into a big smile, patting the brown locks of the younger girl.

 _“Hey, sis. Big bro hit his head reeeeaaaalllyyyy hard a while ago and I can't remember anything.”_  He leaned down to the smaller girl's level, giving her an apologetic wink. The girl blinked at him in confusion.

 _“Can't remember…?”_  She trailed off as she tilted her head at him.

_“Yep! Can you help me out?”_

The girl seemed to hesitate for a few seconds, still seemingly dazed and out of it, but eventually gave a slight nod.

 _“What’s your name, then?”_  He asked, taking off his school jacket and wrapping it around her bare shoulders. She held onto it tightly with quivering fingers.

 _“...Konan…”_  She answered meekly after a few moments.

 _“Konan-chan, is it? I don't really know my name before I got amnesia or whatever, but you can call me Kokichi. Nice to meet you!”_  He greeted as enthusiastically as he can muster, although they really knew each other for a very long time now. She just didn't know it and he's delusional to still think that.

 _“Kokichi...”_  She slowly pronounced as if testing the syllables on her tongue.

Ouma's gaze softened at the sound of his name being called by such a soft voice. Back then, in the lie that was his past life, she was the only one who called him 'Kokichi.’ He internally snapped himself out of it, shoving away unnecessary thoughts that surfaced.

 _“Anyway, why are you naked Konan-chan? Are you, perhaps, an exhibitionist?!”_ He gasped in exaggeration, hoping to earn some kind of positive reaction from the girl in front of him other than a listless one, but to no avail. Konan just weakly shook her head.

 _“Papa…”_ She murmured under her breath, gaze lowering to the floor as she tightened her grip on the jacket embracing her.

 _“Hm?”_ Ouma urged her to continue.

_“Papa said that...if Konan takes off her clothes...Nii will come home…”_

The gears click right into place and Ouma can't stop the darkening of his gaze, his smile threatening to turn into a scowl. So that's how it is.

 _“He_ **_what_ ** _…?”_ He growled through his teeth.

The concept of parents was foreign to him, given that he never had one. It wasn't necessary, he lived 17 years without supervision--save for that orphanage that he ditched as soon as he had the chance--and he turned out alright. Somewhat. Point is, he survived without any adults meddling with his life. They just make things complicated anyways. But this time it seems he was (un)lucky enough to have one. He definitely can't  _wait_  to meet this father of theirs.

Ouma noticed the discomfort in his sister's expression so he let out a loud laugh, patting her head lightly.

 _“That guy's a liar, you know. You shouldn't believe what he says.”_  He whispered to her with a wink.

 _“Papa’s a...liar?”_ Kanon was obviously clueless to what he was saying.

Ouma nodded his head vigorously.  _“And lying is bad. That's why you shouldn't listen to him, okay?”_

Big words coming from someone like him.

Konan hesitated for a second, eyes darting to the sides, but eventually yielded and nodded her head. If Team DR did their job well, then she must be at least 4 years younger than him just like in his memories. Too young. Too young for  _this_.

But from where he came from, things like these are not so rare to come by. He'd seen too many similar cases and a lot worse, to the point that it desensitized him. The weak and helpless are abused and taken advantage of. If you can't protect yourself, you'll be swallowed whole. It's a rule permanently engraved in his mind.

 _“O-kay! Let's get you some clothes.”_ He announced, starting to look around the house.

 _“You've changed, Nii…”_ He heard her mutter behind his back.

 _“Hm, really? What was I like?”_  He asked, sifting through the clothes in his drawer. Might as well get some information about the real Ouma Kokichi while he’s at it.

_“Quiet…”_

He chuckled to himself. He can already guess what sort of other characteristics he had and the multitude of problems he probably faced. Figures. People who enjoy or remotely like Danganronpa are probably deranged at some level, including him. Not that the current him wasn’t strange though.

He pulled out some undersized clothes from the bottom of the closet, showing them to Konan.  _“Are these yours?”_ He asked. Konan nodded shortly.

 _“Here, put them on or else you’ll die of frostbite.”_ He lied mindlessly with a smile.

Konan just stared at the clothes and then at him.

 _“Seriously?”_ He relented with a huff, setting down the clothes and knelt down.

He held each piece of clothing and carefully put it on the younger girl. His eyes lingered on each scar or mark he encountered on the otherwise pale, flawless skin. It left a sour taste in his mouth. Usually he feels almost no sympathy or pity from things like these. Bad things happen and even worse things happen to others. It’s just life. He learned to accept that the hard way and live through with it. But the girl standing in front of him wasn’t just anyone. She’s one of the 9 people that he cared about more than anything else, and just thinking about her situation stimulates the dormant rage sleeping deep inside him.

Once he’s done, he patted her head (just like he always did back then) and whispered her name--the one he knew--quietly under his breath. The only difference between them is their name, while the rest was exactly the same that it’s almost insulting.

 _“Kanon...sleep...”_ She murmured, eyes heavy and threatening to close at a moment’s notice. He watched as she trudged towards the futon, settling herself in the middle of it. Ouma pulled the thick covers on her now clothed body. He looked around the room, taking note of the veranda at the corner. He started moving the TV table towards the door, along with various things that can be used as blockage.

 _“Nii…?”_ Kanon called out, probably awoken by all the noise he was making.

 _“Listen to me, Kanon-chan. Don't let anybody inside until Nii-chan comes back, okay?”_ Ouma leaned down on the bed. Kanon just made a sound of acknowledgment.

 _“Pinky swear?”_ He held up his pinky finger to her, which she weakly accepted with her own.  _“Cool. You better not break your promise or else you'll be cursed.”_

The younger girl just nodded from her position, eyes fully closing into sleep. That went smoother than he thought.

He stretched his muscles, flexing his fingers and noting the lingering stiffness in them. Six months was a long time to be asleep, but he probably still got it. Putting on an extra undershirt and a hoodie he picked up from his closet, he stepped out into the small veranda. The cold wind stung as it blew directly into his face. He really wished he had his scarf right now, but it carried a string of skeletons he doesn't want to deal with at the moment. The railing felt like ice on his bare palms as he gripped them. And with a sharp intake of breath, he jumped down.

* * *

There were only four instances in his life that he felt legitimately pissed off. Usually, he avoids such mind-numbing emotions to overtake him, since it disrupts him from understanding the situation. But there are still times when he lets himself feel angry. Three of those times had something to do with the game. And two of those times was because of Ouma.

If his room’s door had a mouth, it would’ve voiced out its complain about how hard he slammed it close. The loud sound cleared his darkening thoughts a bit, bringing him back to rationality. He wasn’t angry at Ouma more than he was at himself. He should’ve figured that out. Of all people, he. Should. Have. Figured. That. Out. What kind of a detective is he if he can’t tell a simple lie from the truth? But then he remembered that it was always the case with the Supreme Leader. What more, nobody was willing to tell him of Ouma’s whereabouts. Not his address nor his number. He really thought this through, didn’t he? Asking Team DR to keep his information confidential and all. It felt like he was chasing some criminal with little to no clues on his hand. Saihara can only click his tongue.

Akamatsu sent him a message asking how his day went, and he told her of Ouma’s awakening and how he let him slip between his fingers. The pianist can only give him kind words of consolation in response which made him feel better.

He stepped out into the veranda of his room, feeling the cold air hit his face. The two-story apartment complex in front of their house aside, the view was relaxing enough to calm his nerves.

Maybe this was for the better. There wasn't any assurance that Ouma wanted anything to do with him in the first place. After what happened in the game and the things he said, he couldn't blame him. He sighed at the thought, finding it hard to accept the possibility that he will never see Ouma ever again in his life. He went back inside his room, slumping down on his bed and closing his eyes for some early sleep.  

The next morning he went to his therapist for a weekly visit, nodding politely as she greeted him. They did the usual catch up and their topic gradually steered to a particular person that’s been filling his mind.

 _“It’s good that he finally woke up.”_ His therapist commented.

 _“It is.”_ He agreed shortly, biting his lips as he recounted the events that happened soon after. He could feel his therapist scanning him thoroughly, seeing through his eyes and emotions as she always did. It always brought an unnerving feeling into him, still not used to being stared at.

_“Why don’t you give me a little background about this individual? He seems to have quite the impact on you.”_

Background...Where does he even start?

 _“He’s...I never understood him. He keeps on spouting these lies that I can’t discern if true or not. As a detective, I guess that frustrates me. It’s as if his sole intention was to confuse all of us.”_ Saihara vented out, finally having the chance to voice out his thoughts to another person.

The therapist nodded as she took in the information, writing something on her pad.

 _“Mm, he sounds like quite the complex character. ”_   

 _You have no idea_ , Saihara thought.

_“Interesting. I'm sure you feel the same way.”_

Well, he couldn't argue with that.

_“Although as I see it, this person doesn't just do things impulsively or at random. There must be an underlying reason for his words and actions. There always is. And remember, confusion can be used as a defense mechanism as well.”_

Saihara found enlightenment from the therapist's words. It made sense to him. There's a clear contradiction between his initial impressions and what happened during the 5th trial onwards. But that just threw him even more off track in regards to the Supreme Leader. As if the case he was building just crumbled down at his feet.

 _“I just don’t know why he does things sometimes. If he has good intentions or bad...”_   

He sounded like a child whining about the things that didn’t go his way, and he can’t help but cringe at himself.

_“Maybe it isn’t about whether it’s good or bad, but more on if it’s the right thing to do in his perspective.”_

Hearing her suggestion helped clear the doubts in his mind, but he had to consider that this was all speculation. He had to hear it from the person himself, although he doubted he’ll get a straight answer from him. He didn’t even know if they will meet again.

 _“Try to think about that when you look back at his actions. It might help you to understand.”_ She advised with a kind smile.

The session ended with him telling his therapist more stories about Ouma, which she listened to earnestly with a few questions and comments here and there. But for the most part, she just let him say his fill. It took a bit longer than usual, but he must say it was one of the more memorable sessions he had so far.

Another week of school was ahead of him, but he could care less about his homeworks or that upcoming exam in trigonometry. The same questions were the only ones circling his mind as of the moment:

Where is Ouma and what could he be doing right now?

* * *

Everything felt like slow motion as he dodged the incoming fist in front of him, eyes wide with awareness and reflexes heightened by the adrenaline being pumped through his system. He could barely catch his breath as another one came rushing at him. The wall hit his back, and he took the chance to recover air.

 _“Stop dodging and take it like a man, brat!”_ The older man shouted so loud that it could probably be heard by the whole building. He had a witty response ready, but never had the chance to deliver it as he ducked from his position.

_“You disappear for months without saying anything and then you suddenly appear like nothing happened?! You good-for-nothing!”_

The insults thrown at him go into one ear and out the other, his attention more focused on the ongoing punches aimed at him. He would've been impressed at the man's physical tenacity if it was just a normal day.

After buying some food and drinks from the convenience store with the limited money he found on his wallet, he realized he had made a mistake somewhere on his plan of avoiding any encounter with anyone--namely his 'parents'--as well as protecting Kanon by not entering through their front door. But the veranda he jumped down from a while ago was too high and close to impossible to scale. There wasn’t anything to use as leverage nor did he have the necessary tools to somehow do what he intended. It left him with no choice but to use the same entrance he did a while ago, and just pray to his luck that no one came home before him.

Of course the universe wasn't so generous. An unrecognizable man came into sight as soon as he opened the door. He was tall and lean, brown hair just like Kanon. Looked rough around the edges, but there were signs of the once-youthfulness in his washed out face. Years of alcohol and nicotine consumption were evident in his swollen eyes that held a glint that was not quite sane.

And it just went downhill from there. Nothing better than watching your plans get destroyed by your own stupidity.

He made the mistake of glancing at his room’s door, the older man’s fist landing square on his stomach. The air was knocked out of him, forcing him to crouch on the floor in pain. This seemed to satisfy the older man for a while, halting his berserk episode.

Ouma was starting to question just what he was doing and why hasn’t he escaped from this crazy predicament yet. He shouldn’t care whatever happened to this fucked up family, because they’re practically strangers to him. He might as well be on his way, starting anew somewhere far away from here. He bet it wouldn’t even be that hard compared to this. Just run away and leave everything behind.

It was so easy to just not care even back then, just watching those helpless idiots run about and try to solve the murders through their emotions instead of logic. He grit his teeth hard enough to flush out the pain he was feeling. Damn him and his affinity to get unnecessarily involved in other people’s business.

 _“Not going to school and just wasting my money...You really are good for nothing.”_ His supposed 'father' seethed with disdain, lighting a cigarette between his lips.

It took effort more than usual to stand up and crack a smile as if nothing happened. He could only revel in the surprised look of the man before him.

 _“Ehhh, didn’t you know,_ **_dad_ ** _? I was in school this whole time. I was an exchange student in US. Didn’t I tell you this? Geez, you should really learn to listen to other people.”_ The lies rolled off his tongue easily, taking a scolding tone just for the hell of it. The confused expression on his father’s face was priceless.

 _“Huh? US? You were in America?”_ The older man asked with uncertainty, obviously questioning his information.

 _“Duh.”_ No, he wasn’t. " _You can even ask my school if you want.”_ Then he would probably get found out.

Lying like this with risks doesn’t faze him one bit. It was such a bad lie compared to his masterpieces that he doubt anyone will fall for it. Well, except idiots maybe. And this guy is obviously one.

The older man seemed to ponder on this, and years of experience told Ouma that he already got him hook, line and sinker.

 _“Is that so...”_ His father muttered, scratching the back of his neck.  _“Whatever. Just make sure you go to school tomorrow, you fucking brat.”_

 _“O-kay!”_ Ouma complied with a cheer. School, huh…

His father gave him a wary look.  _“What the fuck happened to you? You barely open your mouth back then.”_

Ouma noted the small piece of information he just heard. So he really was the timid type.

 _“I’m going to the bar. Clean this shit up before I get back.”_ His father ordered, walking past him and towards the door. That’s when he took the chance to stealthily pick the wallet he’d been eyeing since a while ago. The older man didn’t notice, and just continued walking out of the house. The Supreme Leader relished in the familiar rush the act brought to him.

That’s it. They can’t stay in this apartment anymore.

He lightly knocked on his room’s door.  _“Kanon-chan? It’s me. Can you move the things blocking the door?”_

 _“...Nii?”_ Kanon called out from inside.  _“Where’s Papa?”_

_“He went out. I’ll wait for you here, okay?”_

He took the other’s silence as a yes. Looking around the small living room, he took note of what things could be used or has some sort of value. The room belonging to their father was locked. No sweat.

He took out a couple of cards from the man’s wallet, bending each of them lightly and choosing one to use. His stomach was still stinging both from the earlier punch and from hunger, but he decided to ignore it. It took him a minute or so, sliding the card repeatedly on the small gap between the threshold and the locked door. Easy.

The room smelled even worse than the living room, alcohol bottles carelessly lying on the floor, and cigarette butts and ashes scattered everywhere. Nausea caught up to him, but he gulped it down. At his peripheral vision, he could make out a white, powdery substance on the table. … He doesn’t need to look closer to know what that was.

He thoroughly checked the room, opening drawers and closets for anything that could be remotely useful to him. All he got was some gum and bundles of  _questionable_  cash. He inwardly shrugged and grabbed them.

When he closed the door behind him, he found Kanon staring blankly at him.

 _“Papa said...we can’t enter his room...”_ She creased her brows in worry.

 _“Did you forget what I said? That guy’s a liar.”_ He raised his finger to his lips.  _“Anyway, you should get ready. We’re going out.”_ He hastily announced, briskly entering his room and grabbing the duffel bag on the corner.

 _“O-out? Where are we going…?”_ Kanon asked with a shaky voice, pursing her lips nervously.

Ouma emptied the drawer of what little clothes they have, dumping it inside the bag along with the other things he grabbed. He swung the bag on his shoulders, inwardly cringing at its heaviness. His mouth spread into a grin, holding up a thumbs up as he faced the younger girl.

_“We’re going on a trip!”_

_“A...trip?”_

This seemed to take Kanon by surprise, her eyes opening a bit wider with hints of excitement and fear.

 _“Yep!”_ Ouma pulled out a beanie he picked up from his room and put it on the girl’s head.  _“You’ll come with Nii-chan, right?”_ He asked, offering his hand at her.

Kanon nodded slowly and took his hand, peering up at him with trusting eyes. The warmth of her hand seeped into his cold fingers, and he held it tightly as they stepped out of their sorry excuse of a house.

He had a plan--a vague one, but a plan nonetheless. There’s no certainty that he can pull it off nor can he predict what was in store for them on the days to come, but he trusted his brain enough to compromise no matter what happened. He made it this far despite not expecting to live this long, so there’s no way he’ll back down now.

It was just another game to play, and he’ll definitely win this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey~ Another long chapter that took a lot of time in getting together. At least I got to do some background building on Ouma. I know, I know, it's going really slow, so I added a "slow burn" tag just in case. But it's getting there, don't worry.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading this! I really hope I do these characters some justice, especially Ouma. I admit that I find it difficult to write him since he's such a complex character. Don't hesitate to point out if any of them is remotely out of character. Constructive criticisms are very much welcome and appreciated! 
> 
> P.S. Sorry I tricked you with the whole amnesia thing.


	5. Aftertaste

Ouma woke up in a jolt, breathing heavy and clothes lightly damp with sweat. That was some dream. He quickly glanced to his side, which he found numb thanks to the sleeping girl fully leaning on him for support. He drew a small sigh, relieved to see that he didn't cause her to wake up. His hand scrambled around him, trying to locate his phone in a struggle. When he finally grabbed a hold of it, he wasted no time opening it, which he immediately regretted as soon as the bright, white screen blinded his tired eyes. After dimming down the brightness and closing his eyes for a minute, he took a glance at the time.

_4:06AM._

Six hours. Not bad. The last time he slept that long was...well, it doesn't matter. Nevertheless, he felt extremely fatigued and the constant sting in his stomach wasn't helping. He put a hand to his forehead, trying to remember what his agenda was for the day. Right. School.

Pfft, as if he'll actually go. It's probably one of his most hated places, and after what happened, it just moved even further up the ranks. But it wasn't really him he was concerned about. It was the small girl sleeping beside him.

He couldn't really care less about education or whatever, but she seemed to think otherwise. Her eyes gleamed as he asked her where her school was and what grade she was in. The change in her demeanor, from dazed to enthusiastic, caught him off guard as she told him all about it. They talked the whole time--or rather, he let her do most of the talking, as he just absorbed whatever information he can with his usual quips here and there. It sounded like school was her haven; the only place she can actually take a break from the shitstorm that was their household. That and being with him. She seemed really attached to him. It brought a chuckle out of his lips. Still clingy even here, he thought.

He remembers being followed everywhere he went, small fingers clutching at the back of his shirt. Even sleeping beside him...they were inseparable. The girl he considered as family--as a little sister--really turned out to be one. Maybe nothing has changed after all.

With all things considered, he just couldn't say no when she asked him if he'll walk her to school tomorrow. Besides, it will allow him to take off his hands from taking care of her, albeit for a short amount of time. But what time does school start for grade schoolers anyway? 8? 9? Fuck if he knows. It wasn’t like he took school seriously anyway.

He gently pulled away from their uncomfortable position, laying her down carefully on the cushioned floor and laid down beside her. A few more hours of sleep wouldn't hurt.

The second time he woke up, it was past seven in the morning and with Konan lightly poking his cheek while she called his name softly.

 _“It's time to wake up...Kokichi-nii.”_ She mumbled as he groggily stood up. He stretched his body in an exaggerated fashion.

 _“Yeah, I was already awake since 4AM. I was just pretending to be asleep.”_ He lied through his tongue, glancing down to see her reaction.  She just stared at him, head tilted to the side.

 _“...Okay.”_ She agreed without much question. Ouma could only raise his brow. So not as sharp, huh?

 _“Anyway!”_ He suddenly announced, hands on his hips. _“Are you ready for our next destination?”_

 _“Where are we going?”_ Konan asked with less energy than him.

 _“To the onsen! How exciting is that?!”_ He beamed at her. Aside from needing a good bath, he really missed relaxing in the hot waters. It seemed to work as she nodded at him, a small smile adorning her lips.

_“Okay, let's go then!”_

The situation took him back to the good old times--living in internet cafe cubicles and using hot springs for baths. Back then, D.I.C.E wasn't even a thing. No, it was way, way back then when it was just him and--

Thankfully, Kanon assured him that she can properly take care of herself in the bath, agreeing to meet with him after 30 minutes. He heaved a long sigh as he relaxed in the water, closing his eyes and letting his brain to stop thinking for once. His head had been throbbing in pain ever since he woke up in Team Danganronpa's headquarters. They explained that he may experience some mild side effects from what happened in the game. Some mild side effect it was to want to rip your brains out. The cold weather also wasn’t helping his cause.

He noticed the unusual length of his hair as he dried himself in the mirror and looking closely, his scars were gone from where they were supposed to be. He shrugged it off, noting that he’ll have to cut it once he got his hands on a pair of scissors. The same black uniform hugged his bare torso fittingly despite his misgivings. D.I.C.E’s iconic uniform had adorned him for so long that being in dark clothes almost felt weird.

Kanon emerged from the women's side of the building a short while after he did, clad in her uniform and worn-out coat. She looked different--more grown up--with a part of her long, brown hair braided on the side.

 _“Wooooow…Did Kanon-chan do this?”_ Ouma sauntered over her, smoothing his fingers over her tied locks. Kanon nodded. _“Cool. Maybe I'll let you tie my hair next time.”_

The younger girl's eyes seemed to gleam as she gave him a look of wonder.

 _“Just kidding. I don't like it when people touch my hair.”_ Ouma waved off. _“Let's go.”_

The walk to her supposed school was uneventful, with him too caught up in taking in his surroundings, pointing out every familiarity and just reliving in the feeling of everything sinking down on him. It was an odd time to be thinking of things but he found himself getting lost in them anyway. That he was here, back in Tokyo, and as surreal as it felt, alive. So should he cross out dying from his bucket list, then?

A tug on his hand cut him off of his daze, glancing down on the girl beside him who was looking at him curiously.

 _“Are you okay, Nii?”_ She asked.

 _“Mmhmm.”_ He answered shortly, relaxing his shoulders that he didn't even knew grew tense from all his thinking.

 _“You'll...go to school, right?”_ The tone in her voice was saying that she expected him to say yes.

Well, the only reason why he was wearing a bloody uniform complete with a backpack that was, in his opinion, screamed otaku and loser with all the Danganronpa pins and keychains decorating it, was because she was hellbent on him attending school for some reason. Being who he is, of course he did what he did best.

 _“Yep.”_ He nodded with a quirk of his eyebrows, as if he had all the intention of going from the start and that he wasn't lying at all. Not one bit.

She could feel her staring at him intently, probably not buying through his act. But the still atmosphere soon disappeared as she leaned into him, adjusting her firm fingers wrapped around his hand.

_“Okay. You promised.”_

And promises are as good as nails without hammers to him.

They stopped in front of the gates of her supposed school, young students passing them by.

 _“I’ll pick you up later, alright?”_ He turned to his sister, patting her head. She just nodded quietly with an almost-smile.

He took his time watching as she trudged inside the school entrance, feeling all eyes glancing over to him. They shouldn’t really bother to murmur since he can very well hear what they were saying about him. The attention was starting to annoy him. Even back then in the bath, he was subjected to being gazed by naked men, which really ruined the should-be perfect experience of pure relaxation. Danganronpa was really **that** popular? He scoffed and turned on his heel. It’s not like it’s got anything to do with him anymore.

As usual, the streets of Tokyo were as busy as ever. Everyone’s in a hurry--business men, students, moms buying groceries--it just doesn’t change. Meanwhile, his mind was preoccupied as he casually walked around without a care in the world. He had to do something about that father of theirs. Just get him out of the picture and they’ll have a house without all the unnecessary domestic violence. Money was the least of his problems. He was literally surrounded by wallets to pick--

Kanon’s face surfaced on his mind. … He chewed on the tip of his thumb. She definitely complicates things. If it was just him, then he won't be thinking much of the consequences and the risks. At that moment, he felt a familiar sense of responsibility overcome him. The same one he accepted when he started D.I.C.E, and the same one he selfishly claimed all for himself back in the game. Maybe it's because of his Supreme Leader qualities or whatever was wired into him. His “talent” now sounded ridiculous to him. Because what the hell is a Supreme Leader supposed to be without anyone to lead?

He knew he was letting his thoughts wander into dangerous territory, but he allows himself just a glimpse. Muttering each name under his breath like a small prayer, he reminisced about each member of D.I.C.E. And as if he summoned them himself, three awfully familiar faces shows up in front of him, making him stop in his tracks, eyes wide.

 _“Oh? Look who we have here. Our very own little actor himself!”_ One of them exclaimed, his blonde hair that swirled upwards bobbing ever so slightly as he walked closer to Ouma.

 _“No shit, it's really him!”_ The one with one-sided bangs peered down to his height, staring at his face. _“But he’s, like, a different person now or something, right?”_

 _“Pshh, who cares. This is still our little Ouma.”_ The spiky-haired guy wrapped his arm around his shoulders. _“We really missed you, you know. It was so boring without you around.”_ The guy snickered at him.

Their faces are the same. The way they smile and grin are the same. Even to the smallest, physical detail, it’s the same. But he knew they were different than the ones he knew in the past. The air was off, and their intentions were clear as day, He wanted to say something--anything--but the dryness in his throat won’t let him as he just settled for observing the three surrounding him.

_“Where are you going, by the way? School is the other way around. Don’t tell me you’re skipping?”_

_“Whaaaat? You’re a good kid aren’t you, Ou-ma-kun~?”_

The three laughed raucously, cracking jokes about him among themselves. That’s when it dawned on him just what their role was in this game, and he felt like laughing out loud himself. It’s all so ridiculous.

 _“Come on. Let’s go to school together. We have a looooooot to catch up to.”_ They cackled as they started walking, pulling him along in their pace.

Change of plans. Looks like he’ll be attending school after all.

* * *

Saihara pulled the scarf on his neck further up, covering almost half of his face. His eyes sting the more he rubbed them with his ice-cold fingers, not really helping with his case. Ever since the day Ouma woke up, he had stayed up late every night reading about the character named “Ouma Kokichi”. The internet was surprisingly abundant with information concerning them, almost to a terrifying degree. Forums dedicated to Danganronpa were booming with claimed sightings of the NDRV3 cast. Ouma’s name was evidently more discussed than any of them and it provided him with information, although the breach of privacy didn’t sit well with him. But with all said, he was still nowhere near in knowing the other’s whereabouts.

One of his leads though, was the picture he saw on his phone. After doing intensive research on restaurants, he finally found one that matches the setting in the background of the picture. There were only two branches of the joint: one in Tokyo and the other in Fukui. He won’t hesitate to travel to Fukui prefecture if it was the case, but he really hoped it was in Tokyo because it’s around the area he lives. Meaning, Ouma is just nearby...It will also make sense if they really knew each other. It’s all falling into pieces, but it was still a stretch.

As usual, the happenings at school went by over his head and it was time to go home before he knew it. Aside from some of his classmates and other students that were insistent in having one-sided conversations with him, there’s nothing much going on. The only thing that changed was his route going home, trying out different roads everyday in the hopes of spotting a certain purple-haired boy by chance.

Thinking of stopping by the bookstore on his way home to pick up the sequel to the mystery novel he just recently finished, he turned the corner towards a less crowded street. Although with that said, there were still a lot of students of different uniforms passing him by. All of them either in groups or in pairs. He’s one of the few ones who are walking alone. It was a bit lonely, he must admit. It’s been a while since he resumed school, and he still didn’t have friends (real ones). He can’t help but to wonder how the others are holding up.

_“What did you say?!”_

The sudden shout snapped him out of his thoughts and he stopped in his tracks, turning his head towards the narrow alleyway on the side. A group of students with black uniform seemed to be huddled around the dim end. It didn’t look good. Saihara’s gut feeling sensing the bad vibe from the scene, telling him to move along and mind his own business. He didn’t want to get invol--

_“I! said! Isn’t this a bit too cliche? Pulling me into an alleyway after school and ganging up on me...How old school can you get? You’re boring me here. If you’re going to bully someone, at least do a good job at it! Bring out the extreme stuff--the bone-breaking, the gang rape, the mind break! Come on, entertain me! I’m starting to think that you’re all too soft.”_

That voice...It can’t be…? Saihara decided to linger for a while, listening in on the conversation.

 _“G-gang--What the hell is this guy talking about? Has he gone crazy or something?”_ One of the guys exclaimed, taking a step back from the smaller figure in the middle.

 _“You pipsqueak...Getting all cocky just because you joined some stupid game, huh?!”_ A spiky-haired guy grabbed the smaller student by the collar, almost raising him up from the ground. _“Know your place!”_

The guy raised his other fist and alarms rang off Saihara’s head. Meanwhile, the boy being held at an arm’s length seemed to be smirking (smugly, even). Just as he expected, the other went in for a punch and that’s when his body dashed forward, his mouth opening on its own.

 _“H-hey!”_ He let out, surprising the group and even himself at the volume of his voice. Thankfully, it stopped the punch midway, the guy’s fist merely inches away from the other’s face. Purple orbs stared widely at him, in a way clearing his doubts. _“Ouma...kun…”_

 _“Ah? Who the hell are you?”_ One of the guys barked, walking up to him with the obvious goal of intimidating him.

 _“E-eh? Umm, I--Uhhh--”_ And of course being him, he let himself be intimidated.

 _“Yo, Saihara-chan!”_ Ouma greeted with a grin and a wave, still being held by the collar and all.

His head raised to meet the other's gaze, letting out a sigh of relief. The circumstances were definitely odd, but he finally found him.

 _“You know this guy?”_ The one holding Ouma up asked the smaller boy with a quirk of the brow.

 _“Of course! He's my beloved Saihara-chan who's come to save me!”_ Ouma exclaimed with dreamy eyes.

_“Who cares who he is? Hey, you. Do you have some business with us?”_

_“Doesn't this uniform belong to that homo school for spoiled brats?”_

_“You're right! I've always been meaning to beat some sense into one of these guys. Knock them off their high horses, know what I'm sayin’?”_

_“Hell yeah! These guys think they're all better than everyone else just because they're rich. Why don't you put your parents’ money to good use for once and give it to us?”_

Two guys were now closing in on him with mischief behind their sneers. He was taller than them but somehow, he felt really small at that moment. Standing up to bullies was never his forte.

Just as his back hit the wall, a resounding yelp echoed throughout the alleyway, catching his and the other two's attention. Behind them, the spiky-haired guy was near collapsing, hands in between his legs and knees ready to buckle at any moment. Ouma stood in front of him with a wide smile, hands on hips as he laughed loudly.

 _“What--What the hell do you think you're doing?!”_ One of the two shouted at Ouma, to which the other just tilted his head with an innocent face.

 _“I just did the world a favor and reduced this idiot's chances of having a kid.”_ The purple-haired boy answered with a smirk. _“Wouldn't want the stupidity to be passed down now, do we?”_

 _“You bastard!”_ The other growled, running full force towards Ouma for a punch. Saihara just watched, with mouth agape in awe, as the Supreme Leader dodged the attack easily, laughing all the while.

 _“Nishishi! Time to bolt!”_ Ouma suddenly announced, not giving him enough time to react as he grabbed his hand and ran out of the alleyway.

 _“Hey, wait!”_ One of the guys called out, trying to chase them but the speed difference was too great.

 _“Later, idiots!”_ The smaller boy bid, glancing back at the guys chasing them and pulling out his tongue.

Saihara still found himself flabbergasted and speechless as Ouma just literally dragged him to who knows where. They had run quite a long ways from the alleyway and breathing was starting to get harder and harder for the detective. Finally, they gradually slowed down to a stop, Ouma’s grip on his hand loosening and eventually separating from him. Saihara took the opportunity to catch his breath, chest heaving as he leaned on his knees. He glanced at the boy beside him, amazed to see him smiling as usual without any trace of sweat or fatigue.

 _“That was fun!”_ Ouma cheered. _“Right, Saihara-chan?”_

He finally caught up with his breath, standing straight and facing Ouma properly. The other was just staring at him with an unreadable smile, and only after all that commotion did he take in that he finally found the person he was looking for even though it was really just coincidence. He can’t help but to stare dumbly, taking in every detail he could. His white skin, the length of his violet-ashen hair, his wide eyes, the faint reddening of his cheeks (probably from the cold), his pale lips, how odd it was to see him clad in a dark uniform, and the lingering feeling of warmth left on his fingertips--all of these being taken by him all at once. His mere presence was overwhelming for him.

 _“What were you doing back there…?”_ He asked for a start.

 _“Getting bullied.”_ Ouma answered as if it was as obvious as the color of the sky.

 _“B-bullied? Umm, are you okay?”_ He ran his eyes all over the other’s features once again, trying to discern if there was even a small scratch, but found none.

 _“I’m fine!”_ The other dismissed with a scoff. _“You really think **those** idiots can bully **me**? I’m insulted, Saihara-chan...” _ Tears start to well up on the edge of Ouma’s eyes.

 _“Ah, no, I didn’t mean it that way.”_ Saihara held up his hands in an effort to immediately console the other boy despite knowing full well that it was just an act. _“I’m just worried if you’re hurt somewhere.”_

Ouma’s expression snapped to a blank one and then back to the usual grin in the blink of an eye.

 _“What about you? Why were you there?”_ The smaller boy asked.

 _“Oh, I was just--”_ What **_was_** he doing? _“I just happened to pass by.”_ He answered with an unsure tone to which Ouma narrowed his eyes at him.

 _“Really? Or could it be...Are you stalking me, Saihara-chan?!”_ The Supreme Leader gasped in feint shock.

_“What? No. I mean, well, I was looking for you, but--”_

_“Looking for me?”_ Ouma tilted his head.

 _“Yeah. You just disappeared after waking up. I thought you had amnesia, and there was no way to contact you.”_ Saihara cringed at his naivete as he recalled what happened back then.

 _“Oh, right. I have amnesia. Who are you?”_ Ouma asked innocently, putting his hands behind his head.

Saihara’s brows creased at the boy in front of him, feeling slight annoyance. _“You don’t have amnesia.”_

 _“Yep, it was a lie. As expected of Saihara-chan, you didn’t fall for that.”_ Ouma praised him, sounding proud.

They held their gazes for a few seconds, Saihara wanting to say something--a lot of things--but not finding the will. The smaller boy was the first to break it off.

 _“Well, it was nice seeing you. Bye.”_ Ouma waved abruptly, already starting to turn on his heel and walk away.

 _“Wait!”_ Saihara cried out in panic, wanting anything but for the smaller boy to disappear again.

Ouma turned to him with an expectant look. _“Hmm?”_

 _“Can we talk?”_ The detective pleaded.

 _“Nope.”_ The other answered quickly, leaving Saihara dumbfounded. _“My super rich family is waiting for me at our super big house, and I know you reaaaaaaallly miss me, but I’m really in a hurry. Sorry, Saihara-chan.”_ Ouma winked at him with a matching peace sign.

Saihara didn’t know which part of that statement he should even consider pondering on, but he decided to push that thought aside for now. He pulled out his phone and presented it to Ouma. _“Can I at least get your number?”_

_“Sure”_

He was surprised at how compliant the Supreme Leader was, sauntering over him and typing his digits on his phone. _“Give me a call when you’re sad. Nishishi~”_ Ouma giggled as he handed the phone back to the detective.

 _“Wait, Ouma-kun. I’ll try calling you.”_ Saihara called out before the other could walk off again, pushing the button on his phone.

 _“Oh? Are you thinking I put a random number in your phone?”_ The Supreme Leader smirked, seemingly amused.

After a few rings and an embarrassing apology with the stranger that answered on the other end, the detective can’t help but to let out a tired sigh. Somehow, he expected that, but it still felt as frustrating as ever to be on the receiving end of his pranks.

 _“You **did** put a random number.” _ He pointed out to the smaller boy who just laughed at his face.

 _“Impressive! I thought you’re still the same old, naive detective I knew, but I guess not, huh? Great character development right there.”_ Ouma flashed him a smile that seemed almost genuine as he re-entered his number on his phone (hopefully the real one). Almost.

Saihara can’t help but to give a smile of his own. _“And you haven’t really changed have you, Ouma-kun?”_

The Supreme Leader shrugged, turning his back on him and walking in the opposite direction, giving a small wave.

_“I will never change.”_

* * *

To say that he was distracted was an understatement. Too many interesting things have happened in just one day. School was just as he expected: strangers swarmed to him at the mere recognition that he was “that crazy character” in a televised killing game. Crazy? Surely, they exaggerate. If anything, he considered himself to be the sanest out of all of them.

What’s more amusing was the appearance of three more (not) D.I.C.E members. There was his modest short-haired English teacher who just happened to live in the same apartment complex as him who even asked how he and Kanon was faring and that she was always there if ever he needed help with anything. Conservative clothes and behavior aside, her affectionate personality was still the same, almost to a flirty degree just like how he knew her. He raised a brow at her, but kept up his innocent smile, as she caressed his cheek for five minutes without saying anything. The look she was giving him was far from normal, but he just shrugged it off for now. Then his brown-haired, twin-tailed seatmate who kept close to the “popular kids” literally didn’t have any interaction with him whatsoever. And finally, an underclassman with black hair that suddenly greeted him as they passed each other in the hallway. More than feeling nostalgic and melancholic seeing such familiar faces, he was starting to get amused at how absolutely parallel the real versions were from those he knew and how Team Danganronpa modeled them after those who were in constant close contact with him.

He decided against avoiding his “bullies” after school and just obediently let them pull him wherever the hell they want. Might as well see what they’re made of, drop the good boy act, and set the order of the food chain once and for all. Well, they were as typical as they could get and it was a bit of a letdown. He was riling them up just fine when the highlight of his day decided to show up.

He actually didn't think that he will ever see his _beloved_ classmates ever again nor was he interested in having any interaction with any of them. Nothing personal, just that he deemed it unnecessary. Most of them probably won't want to anyway, especially not to him. Not that he blames them.

The sudden appearance of Saihara Shuichi at that exact moment caught him off guard enough to lose his composure even for a few seconds. The timing was impeccable and the situation was really odd for their sudden reunion. He was as unpredictable as ever, and Ouma can’t stop his interest from being attracted to things that are incalculable. But this time--only this time--he stopped himself from indulging. There was no merit in engaging with him and he wasn’t in the mood to play the part Saihara had known him for. If anything, he wanted to avoid him altogether. He should’ve just left him to believe that he couldn’t remember anything.

He read the text message he received from the detective for the umpteenth time.The fact that he managed to acquire his phone’s number was no big deal at all. It wasn’t like he’ll reciprocate. He closed his phone, focusing on observing the eating girl in front of him. She was quietly eating a hamburger steak with the same stoic expression, but he can tell that she was happy.

They could survive for a week at most with the money they had. He had to put his plan in action by that time. He nibbled on the tip of his thumb as he brainstormed. He already had an idea on how to get rid of their father. The only thing he needed was a bait. A certain face popped up on his mind, and he couldn’t stop the smile that crept up on his lips. He still had to test it.

 _“Hey, Kanon-chan.”_ He called out, resting his cheek on his palm. The younger girl looked up at him. _“Do we have any relatives aside from that ass--dad?”_

Kanon slowly chewed as she thought about the question. _“Baa-chan...”_

This caught Ouma’s full attention. _“A grandma, huh...Where is she now?”_

_“Gifu? But...It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her. The last time we stayed with her was when we were kids. You don’t remember, Nii?”_

He shook his head in response. Still, Gifu is pretty far. But definitely not **that** far. Okay, he could work with that. He’ll take any available piece he could use.

_“I really liked it there. The food was always delicious...and the hotsprings feel good...”_

_“Hotsprings?”_

The smaller girl nodded. _“Her house has lots of hotsprings.”_

 _‘So she owns an onsen_ ,’ he thought. That makes things a lot easier. He flashed a grin at his sister. _“Wanna go there?”_

Kanon’s eyes lit up and widened, and he can’t help but to chuckle at her reaction. It’s settled then.

He looked down on his phone and reread the message of a certain detective.

_“Hi, Ouma-kun. It’s me, Saihara. Are you free this Saturday? If possible, I would like to meet with you.”_

He tapped the textbox, his fingers hovering over the letters. But on second thought, he closed his phone and focused on asking his sister how her day went instead.

* * *

Saihara glanced to the black screen of his phone, then turned back to the girl in front of him. _“Sorry, what were you saying?”_

Akamatsu puffed her cheeks in a pout, glaring at the boy in front of her. _“Geez, what is up with you today? You keep on checking your phone. Did you get a girlfriend or something?”_

 _“No, no, it’s nothing like that!”_ The detective held up his hands in defense, feeling slightly embarrassed.

 _“You’re doing pretty good huh, Saihara-kun.”_ Amami chuckled lightly besides Akamatsu.

 _“I-I told you, it’s not like that!”_ He insisted, only earning laughs from the other two.

Amami was the recent addition to their lunch-outs, and despite being surprised the first time, he didn’t really mind the other’s company. If anything, he was happy to see the two of them laughing together like this. They seemed to be comfortable with each other now.

 _“But really, what’s up?”_ Akamatsu turned to him with concern in her eyes.

_“Actually, I saw Ouma-kun the other day.”  
_

_“Ouma? As in Ouma Kokichi?”_ The green-haired boy confirmed with him. He nodded wordlessly.

 _“So you finally found him! Thank god.”_ The pianist let out a sigh of relief. _“That’s good, isn’t it?”_

 _“Yeah, I managed to get his number and just waiting for him to reply.”_ He informed them, casting his eyes down towards his lap.

 _“But he hasn’t replied yet, has he?”_ Amami asked, giving him a look of understanding as he nodded. The other let out a chuckle. _“That’s no good, Saihara-kun. If you wanted to get a hold of him, you should’ve done so when he was within arm’s length. He won’t answer your messages. You know that, don’t you?”_

As much as he hated to admit it, he did. He scowled at the empty spot on the table. _“Yeah. I just...I was hoping he will....”_ A pathetic excuse if he say so himself.

 _“I don't really see the reason why he wouldn't, though.”_ Akamatsu set her fist under her chin, seemingly thinking hard.

 _“He probably doesn't want to keep in touch with us.”_ Amami answered her question with a bitter smile.

 _“Why?! We're his friends!”_ The pianist exclaimed, slamming her palms on the table and garnering some attention from of those around them. Saihara was taken aback by her sudden outburst, but Amami was unfazed, telling her to calm down.

_“You have to understand that while it may be like that for you, it's not for everybody else. Just like with Iruma-san who told us to go away, Ouma-kun might not want anything to do with us.”_

Saihara kept quiet as he took in Amami's words. It wasn't like he never thought of that possibility. In fact, it's the one situation he thought and dreaded about **a lot**. But at the same time, it's probably the case. He just didn't want to accept it.

 _“It’s quite difficult, especially with Ouma-kun. He tends to be quite...unpredictable and he doesn't like depending on others. Rather, he can't. I don't know the reason why, but he always makes sure to keep a certain distance from other people.”_ Amami frowned as he gazed on the simmering coffee in his cup.

 _“Sounds like you know him quite well…”_ Akamatsu observed, giving Amami a curious look.

_“Not really. He did talk to me a lot when we were in the game, and I noticed some things. But it's probably because we're the same in that aspect that I can understand him a little. Although never fully.”_

Saihara pondered over the survivor's words, carefully digesting them. Putting that together and his psychiatrist's advice, it made sense. Difficulty in trusting others, huh…

 _“Don't worry, Saihara-kun! I know you'll get through him.”_ Akamatsu's encouragement startled him a bit.

 _“I don't think I can, to be honest.”_ He could only laugh in uncertainty.

 _“No, you can. If anything, you're probably the best person who could.”_ Amami reassured him with a smile. He sounded so sure that Saihara almost wanted to believe it.

 _“E-eh? Why me?_ ”

Amami gave him a surprised look as if he should know better. _“Because he fully trusted you in the game, didn't he?”_

They bid their farewells a little later in the afternoon, the two going the opposite way as him. Amami's vague words circled around his brain quite insistently. The more he thought about it, the less it made sense to him. Ouma clearly didn't trust him, or anybody for that matter. So what could he mean?

* * *

Ouma peeked from the edge of the wall, carefully watching the door to their apartment. He's been on the lookout for a few hours now, and he can't feel his bare fingers anymore as the cold hugged his entire being. But he had to take the necessary precautions for his plan.

Just as he predicted, the figure of his father emerged from the other end of the road, slowly trudging towards the apartment. This has been his usual time of arrival during the weekdays based on his observations from the past few days. Skipping school and lying to his sister wasn't that big of a deal if it meant he could solidify the plan he had in mind. From the distance, he could see his English teacher emerging from the shadows, also approaching the building.

Soon enough, the two noticed each other and Ouma turned his full attention to the scene. He wasn't close enough to hear what they were talking about, but he could see well enough to identify certain gestures and twitches that translated into deeper meanings for him.

He couldn't help the grin from crawling up his lips as he watched his father's gaze follow his teacher as she went up to her room. That's the final piece he needed. Now the only thing left was the execution.

He hummed happily as he returned to the internet cafe they were staying in, two packages of food in his hands.

 _“It's time to eat, Kanon-chan!”_ He announced as he closed the door behind him.

 _“Where have you been?”_ The little girl asked, setting down the book in her hands.

 _“To buy food, duh.”_ He answered nonchalantly, preparing the food for him and his sister.

 _“...That took too long…”_ She mumbled, taking a bite from the tonkatsu.

_“Yeah, well, buying food in this weather really takes time.”_

They ate in silence for a while before his sister opened her mouth again.

_“Nii…”_

_“Hm?”_ Ouma looked up from his cup noodles.

_“When will we go home?”_

Ouma blinked at her for a second before flashing a wide smile. _“Soon, don't worry.”_ He patted her head. She gave him a small smile in return and that gave him all the more reason to make sure his plan succeeds.

It was already way past 1 in the morning but he still continued to scroll through various forums, quickly reading through the threads. He had to keep himself up to date with the current world but to his surprise, the happenings weren't much different from what he already knew. A certain thread about Danganronpa caught his eye and he was about to click on it when his phone suddenly rang. He lightly jumped from surprise, immediately muting it and glancing at his sleeping sister. Fortunately it didn't wake her up. He went out of the internet cafe and stepped outside, clad in nothing but a mere hoodie and sweatpants that were in no way suited for winter.

He looked at the missed call, an unfamiliar number staring back at him. As he expected, it called again. Out of curiosity, he answered it.

 _“Hello? Oi, Ouma, are you there?”_ The voice barked out from the other line, and he didn't have to ask to know who it was.

 _“Ouma who? Sorry, but I think you have the wrong number.”_ He said in a mocking tone.

_“Liar. I know it's you.”_

He snickered in amusement. _“What do you want, Momota-kun?”_

_“I knew it. It's really you.”_

Ouma rolled his eyes at no one in particular. _“No, it's your mom. Anyway, why are you calling at 2AM in the morning?”_ He faked a yawn. _“You woke me up, you know.”_

 _“Ah, right. I forgot the time zones. My bad.”_ Momota apologized and he could already imagine him scratching the back of his head.

 _“Time zones?”_ Ouma raised his brow in question.

_“Yeah, I'm currently in America. Training in NASA.”_

_“Wow! NASA takes in people with talents that some lame game studio artificially infused in them? Man, now I'm really nervous about the future of space exploration.”_

_“Hey! I'm not fake--”_ Momota cut himself off, sighing in exasperation before clearing his throat. _“Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk about.”_

 _“I thought you're going to bore me all night with your science shit. So, what is it?”_ Ouma huffed as he leaned on the cafe's wall, ignoring the cold as much as he can.

 _“Actually, I just wanted to check if you were really up and about.”_ The other muttered in a relieved tone. _“Sounds like you're doing alright. I was worried.”_

The Supreme Leader stared emptily at his feet, letting the emotions swirl free inside him as he chewed on his bottom lip.

_“Hello? You still there? Hey, Ou--”_

_“Is that it? I'm hanging up.”_ He suddenly said in fake irritation, adding a loud yawn at the end.

_“Oh wait, another thing.”_

_“What.”_ He spat out.

_“Stop ignoring Shuichi. Looks like he has something to say to you.”_

_“You’ve got guts ordering **the** Super Highschool Level Supreme Leader.”_

_“Yeah, whatever. Just hear him out, yeah? Anyway, gotta go. Take care. Catch ya’ lat--”_

He hung up. Well, Momota was as annoying as ever. And he was pissed off at a certain detective more than ever for sharing his number to the astronaut. God knows who has his number now. He clicked his tongue, walking back to their cubicle and lying down on the floor with a huff.

He opened Saihara's message, rereading the words. Momota's right. He should hear him out and get the whole charade over with. He'll stop bothering him once he lets him say his self-righteous heroics or whatever. He flexed his fingers before typing up a reply.

_“Tomorrow, 10AM. Princess Cafe in Ikebukuro.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! I really enjoyed writing this chapter! I wish you enjoyed reading it as well~ Thank you so much for those who kudos this and those who commented. Just realized I didn't reply to the previous comments and it's kind of awkward to reply to them now since it's been a long time...Really sorry about that. I usually don't reply to comments but I really, really, REALLY appreciate all of you who supports this. See you in the next one!
> 
> P.S. Looking for mutuals who likes Danganronpa~ Follow me on twitter @lunaillumina !!!!


	6. Aftereffect (Part 1)

Saihara panted as he pushed his way out of the train doors, not bothering to apologize to the various people he managed to bump on the way. Usually, he’ll stop and bow down to each and every one of them, but it wasn’t like any other day. He glanced at his watch, instantly regretting that decision as it only made him panic even more. Internally cursing as he stared at the red stoplight, he relapsed into blaming his bad luck for waking up late. Of all the days...Just great.

It was a weekday and he had school, but more importantly, he was going to meet Ouma. He just can’t be late. Somehow, he had the feeling that he won’t ever have another chance like this if he let it slip. That the Supreme Leader will up and disappear if he was even a second late. Knowing how erratic he was, it might actually happen.

He briskly walked on the crowded streets of Ikebukuro, almost considering running if necessary. Thankfully, he could make out the faint signboard of the cafe from the distance, a relieved sigh escaping him as he glanced at his watch and found out that he had two more minutes left. He slowed down his pace, catching up to his breathing and fixing his clothes properly. It was winter so he didn’t have to worry about wiping off his non-existent sweat. 

His hands felt cold, not because of the weather, but because of the sudden nervousness that surged in him. The lump in his throat grew heavier as he neared the establishment, swallowing becoming near impossible as he stood in front of the glass doors. 

_ ‘This is it. Don’t mess up.’ _ , he reminded himself. He opened the doors and was greeted by warmth and a lively greeting from the staff. His eyes scanned the relatively small shop, taking note of the peculiar ambiance. A familiar shade of purple passed by his peripheral vision and immediately caught his attention. 

Sitting at the far end of the shop was the one and only Super Highschool Level Supreme Leader, staring out the window and seemingly preoccupied with a distant look in his eyes. It was a new expression, something Saihara had never seen before. He could just stand there and observe more of Ouma, but he was garnering enough attention as it is. So with a sharp intake of breath, he made his way to the table. Ouma noticed him approaching, blinking out of his trance and turning to him with a wide smile. 

You’d think they were good friends by the way the leader’s eyes sparkled with happiness, but Saihara knew better. He should know better by now. Nevertheless, he gave a small smile of his own as he took a seat in front of him.

_ “Hey, Ouma-kun. Sorry I was running a bit late.”  _

_ “You’re just on time, though? But I’ve been here for over an hour already so I guess you are.” _

_ “An hour? I thought the meeting time was 10…?”  _ The detective trailed off with uncertainty. Did he read Ouma’s message wrong? Or maybe--

_ “Yeah, that was a lie. But hey, if you insist, you can just treat me to make up for your imaginary tardiness.”  _ Ouma grinned and Saihara could only offer an awkward chuckle. Well, at least he seems to be in a good mood.

Momentary silence surrounded them, only to be disturbed as a waitress approached their table.

_ “Good morning! Ready to order?”  _ She smiled at them. Ouma grabbed one of the menus on the table and turned the pages, pointing to an item on the dessert section.

_ “I want this!”  _ He beamed excitedly at the waitress, who just chuckled as she took down his order.  _ “Oh, and this! And this too!”  _ Ouma continued to point to various items on the menu.

_ “Wow, that’s quite a lot, sir.”  _ The waitress commented in surprise, but took note of the orders gladly all the same.

_ “It’s fine. Saihara-chan will pay for it anyway, nishishishi~”  _ Ouma smiled at him knowingly with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and what else could he do but quietly accept his fate.

_ “And how about you, sir?”  _ She turned to him.

_ “Oh, uhh--”  _ Saihara quickly opened the menu, scanning over the items without anything particular in mind. He wasn’t really hungry despite not having eaten anything since he woke up.  _ “One Americano, please.” _

_ “Is that all, sir?”  _

_ “Yes.” _

After repeating their orders, the waitress left them alone once again. 

_ “Just coffee, Saihara-chan?”  _ Ouma tilted his head in question.

_ “Yeah, I’m not really hungry.”  _

_ “That’s not good, you should eat more. You don’t look healthy.”  _ The shorter boy advised in an almost caring tone. But it always just stops at ‘almost’ when it comes to Ouma.

_ “You’re one to talk.”  _ Saihara blurted out without much thought, only realizing that he said what’s on his mind out loud. Ouma stared at him with wide eyes, looking stunned for a second but reverted back to a playful chuckle.

_ “Charming me with your boldness this early in the morning, huh? I expected nothing less from you.”  _

But really, Saihara couldn’t take his eyes off the other’s bony fingers and evident collar bones. They were definitely less apparent in the past.

Their orders started arriving, and their table was soon occupied with various things, mostly desserts on Ouma’s side. He took a sip of the still-hot coffee, testing it on his lips as he watched the other happily gobble up three stacked pancakes--that had WAY too much syrup--with shocking speed. For someone with such a thin figure, he sure can eat a lot, thought the detective. Maybe he only had a huge appetite for sweets.

_ “Sooooo are you just going to watch me eat or are you finally gonna say what’s on your mind?”  _ The question shook him out of his thoughts, making him blink in surprise at the boy in front of him.

_ “Sorry…”  _ He apologized, tearing his eyes off the shorter boy. All of a sudden, he was conscious of his staring.  _ “Um, how are you?”  _

Without warning, Ouma burst into laughter, setting down his fork in exchange of clutching his stomach.

_ “Come on, Saihara-chan. Let’s skip the formalities and get down to business, shall we? That’s not what you wanted to know.”  _ Ouma scoffed.

_ “But I do want to know how you are doing.”   _ He could feel his brows knit.

_ “I’m as awesome as always, of course. If that’s all you wanted to know, then I’ll get going now.”  _ Ouma suddenly stood up, leaving the rest of his food untouched. Panic coursed through the detective, making him grab the other’s wrist from across the table to stop him.

_ “Wait, please stay! That’s not all.”  _ He begged, unconsciously tightening his grip on the other. Definitely off to a bad start.

Ouma stared at him with an unreadable expression, narrowing his eyes before relaxing into his usual smile. The detective slowly removed his hold on him and watched him take a seat.

_ “Saihara-chan begging me to stay with him...Hell has finally frozen over.”  _ He snickered, taking a big bite out of his cake. 

He was relieved that he prevented the leader from walking out, but it made him realize that this would be far from easy. Well, Ouma had always been difficult to handle and especially frustrating to speak to. Although, there have been times when he was...okay to be with. Interesting, even. Like those rare moments in the game when they hanged out. He was kind of hoping that the atmosphere will be like that, but it was wishful thinking after all. The circumstances are much too different.

_ “So where have you been staying?”  _ He asked. That was a good question for starters, right?

_ “Why should I tell you? That’s private information.” _

_ “I’m not asking for your complete address. Just where in Tokyo and who are you living with.”  _ Saihara countered, taking up a frank and a bit forceful tone. It was as if he was talking to a stubborn child.

_ “Wow, you sounded like a real detective just now.”  _ Ouma whistled, looking like he was enjoying himself.  _ “I live around Shibuya, in a biiiiiiiiiiiiiig house near Team Danganronpa’s headquarters. It’s probably the largest house in the area, you know?”  _ He proudly answered, gesturing with his hands for the added effect.

A lie. _ “Oh...Is that so? Then you must be pretty well-off.”  _ He took a sip from his already lukewarm cup of coffee, taking in the bitterness.

_ “Yep! My parents are super rich and I’m an only child.”  _ Ouma huffed in a bored tone, peering up at him with expectant eyes.  _ “And you?” _

_ “Me?”  _ He stalled, trying to maintain his composure as he thought fast. Lying wasn’t his forte, and what more in front of Ouma Kokichi.  _ “Here, in Ikebukuro. I also live with my parents.”  _

If Ouma figured out he was lying, to which Saihara assumed he probably did by the way he was staring at him with an ominous smile, the leader didn’t voice it out. 

_ “Sure.”  _ The shorter boy shrugged.

Well, he also knew the other wasn’t being honest with him, but it was best if he kept that information to himself for later use. It was against his principles, but this is the most applicable approach he can come up with. Two can play at that game.

As he did his best to gain as much information as he can about the other by asking all sorts of questions, he realized that Ouma, on the other hand, had no intention of letting him know even one single thing about him. His answers were anything but serious, and the detective could tell that they were each carefully woven to confuse him. If he were like his old, naive self, he probably would’ve fallen for the leader’s lies hook, line, and sinker. Good thing that he had learned his lesson, although it took him way too long. Identifying the lies from the truth was a small, but significant victory.

By the time Ouma finished all of his food, Saihara was already feeling mentally tired from double-guessing and overthinking each reply of the Supreme Leader. As Ouma sighed in contentment, Saihara sighed in exasperation. 

_ “Ahh, that was awful.”  _ Ouma huffed, betraying his blissful expression as he stared out the window once again.  _ “By the way, Saihara-chan...How’s our other  _ **_beloved_ ** _ classmates? Have they all woken up?” _

A question he didn’t see coming. That was the first time the leader showed interest in their former classmates’ whereabouts. 

_ “No...There’s still Shinguji-kun and Gonta-kun...”  _

Ouma made a noise of acknowledgment, looking like he could care less, but Saihara didn’t fail to notice the slight tensing of the other’s jaw. Just then, a sudden idea came to him.

_ “Ah, that’s right! We can visit them if you want.”  _ He suggested enthusiastically. 

_ “Visit...?”  _ Ouma raised his eyebrow in question, looking like it was the first he was hearing about it. Saihara nodded, waiting for the other to take him up on the offer.

_ “What will we even do there? Stare at them?”  _

_ “And see how they’re doing, I guess? One of them might even wake up.” _

Ouma seemed to actually ponder over it, mindlessly playing with the knife on his hands. He vaguely remembers him doing that and ending up with a cut on his finger.

_ “Okay, sure. I’ve got nothing to do anyways. Do you?” _

_ “No, I’m free all day.”  _ The detective shook his head.

_ “But don’t you have school, Saihara-chan?” _

_ “Oh, it’s...It’s fine.”  _ Saihara waved it off, not wanting to think about it.

_ “Didn’t take you for the type to skip classes.”  _ Ouma snickered at him in all amusement.

_ “What about you? Don’t  _ **_you_ ** _ have school?”  _ Saihara recalled the black uniform the other was wearing the last time they saw each other. It’s now replaced with a dark hoodie that swallowed up his frame, making him look even smaller. 

Ouma scoffed.  _ “Supreme Leaders don’t go to school.”  _ With a lack of a reply, Saihara decided to just leave it at that, pushing the thought of the black uniform at the back of his mind. He was sure he had seen it somewhere though...

The way to Team DR’s headquarters, he decided to fill Ouma in on the whereabouts of those that have woken up. It was unsettling seeing the leader so quiet--well, more quiet than usual. He did most of the talking while Ouma just mostly listened, adding his quips here and there. He looked tired, with darkening circles under his eyes and a too-pale complexion. Not to mention he was too underdressed for the weather. But even though this was the case, Saihara could tell that not once did Ouma lower down his guard. He was wary of him. Painfully so. 

_ “Welcome back, guys!”  _ The staff greeted as they arrived, to which Saihara politely bowed in response while Ouma just plain ignored it, swiftly making his way down the hospital floor. Comforting warmth welcomed them as they stepped out of the elevator.

_ “You always hang out here?”  _ Ouma asked out of the blue, glancing at the windows of the empty rooms. 

_ “Yeah, sometimes. Just to check on those still recovering.”  _

_ “Hmmm...Saihara-chan’s so caring.”  _ The leader sang in praise, giving him a wink as he put his hands behind his head.

Looking at the bare rooms, it dawned on him that it really has been a while. It felt like only yesterday he just woke up, the events of the game fresh from his mind and everyone still in deep slumber. But now most of them has recovered and continuing on with their lives. Some stayed in touch, some refused to. He couldn’t blame them if they wanted to forget about all of it. If he had the chance, he would’ve erased it from his memory too. But at the same time, he knows he wouldn’t be able to let go of those experiences easily. Rather, he can’t. 

Even now, he’s still struggling with his so called existence that he just can’t seem to find in the current world he’s living in. He doesn’t know anyone. No one knows  _ him _ \--the current him, the one who he considers real. He might as well be a fictional character after all. The only thing that verifies that everything he went through was real--that he  **_is_ ** real--were the same people that he shared those moments with. Maybe that’s why he so desperately grasp at what little connection he has with them. It was unhealthy, he knows, that’s why he decided to attend those therapy sessions. It was definitely a huge help despite the gruelling process, and he feels that over the past six months, his sense of independence has somewhat improved. 

They were all meant to go their separate ways one way or another. Life goes on. They’re no longer bound by the same thread of fate. And while he’s still a long way from accepting that fact, he knows he’ll eventually come into terms with it. Hopefully.

But this one, at the very least...

He stole a glance at the shorter boy beside him. 

…

If he were to reach out his hand to him...would he--

_ “Ah, it’s Shinguji-chan.”  _ Ouma’s voice pulled him out of his deepening thoughts.  _ “Uwaa...His hair got even longer.”  _ The leader pressed his face into the glass, eyes set on the sleeping individual at the center of the room. Saihara wanted to comment that Ouma’s hair got unnaturally longer and more unruly too, but decided to just appreciate it in silence.

Shinguji’s hair pooled around the length of the bed, some dangling along the edges. Seeing him without his usual mask was even more peculiar, though.    


_ “It will be kind of dangerous if this guy wakes up, huh? Being a serial killer and all.“  _ The leader commented thoughtfully.

Saihara shifted uncomfortably from where he was standing. Well that’s...something to think about. He didn’t know what will happen once Shinguji wakes up as much as he didn’t know what Team DR was thinking when they infused a serial killer persona into him. They literally created a criminal. Or doesn’t that count because it’s all just a television show?

_ “Would be nice if he just got amnesia and forgot about all that. Just like me.” _

_ “You didn’t get amnesia.”  _ Saihara pointed out.

_ “Nishishi~ Or did I?”  _ Ouma hummed, walking away from the room. The detective could only tilt his head, falling into a state of confusion just as he’d been doing for the past few hours. Nevertheless, he followed after him. 

_ “Gonta-kun’s room is over there.”  _ He decided to point out, catching the attention of the Supreme Leader. 

The smirk on Ouma’s face faded into nothingness as he stared through the glass, eyes set on the large figure resting on the bed while a nurse tended to him. Saihara wasn’t sure about a lot of things when it came to Ouma Kokichi, but he’d dare say that he sensed nothing but melancholy from him at that exact moment. Maybe with a hint of regret. 

It was the most difficult trial to digest, even for him, and just thinking about it brings an unpleasant feeling in his gut. It was also back then that he felt true anger--something that he tries his best to avoid at all cost. No matter how much he tried to stay level-headed, he couldn’t contain himself and ended up saying something he really wished he could take back. Seeing Ouma like this reignited that bitter flame of regret. 

Because he thought about it for a long time. He thought about it as hard as he could during his visits to the Supreme Leader. Trying to analyze Ouma’s actions during the game and the reasons behind them became somewhat of a hobby for him. He racked his brain and tried to put together the pieces laid before him. Like clues left behind by the perpetrator himself. It was deja vu, really. Ouma always lead him on even back in the game, and being him, he unconsciously danced along. It has always been like this between them. It will always be like this.

_ “You can go inside.”  _ Saihara suggested, shattering the prolonged silence between them. 

Ouma seemed unfazed, shaking his head without tearing his gaze from the room. Saihara resigned to himself, allowing the Supreme Leader a much-needed silence.

The nurse eventually exited the room, taking notice of the two of them with a gentle smile. 

_ “Saihara-kun, it’s been a while since your last visit.”  _ She curtly bowed at him. Due to him showing up so often, every nurse was probably familiar with him to some degree, especially this one in particular. She’s the one who was always taking care of Ouma. Given, she turned to the purple-haired boy.  _ “And Ouma-kun, I’m happy to see you’re doing well. You aren’t feeling anything wrong, are you?”  _ She checked Ouma from head to toe, gazing at him worriedly.

_ “Not really.”  _ Ouma answered easily, and Saihara hoped it really was the case. He was told that even after the leader woke up from his slumber, it didn’t mean that he was fully recovered, and that there were bound to be a lot of side effects from all the medications they pumped into him. But looking at Ouma with his usual relaxed grin made it seem like nothing could ever go wrong with him.

_ “If you ever feel even the slightest pain in the head, don’t hesitate to come here, okay?”  _ She motioned to pat Ouma on the head but the leader was quick to evade, looking like an animal watching his prey as he glared at her. The nurse was momentarily surprised, but eventually eased into a chuckle. 

_ “Well, if anything happens, I’m sure Saihara-kun will be there to help. He visited you almost everyday, you know? I can tell he’s really worried about you.”  _

Saihara could feel his cheeks heating up at the--absolutely--unnecessary revelation. Ouma didn’t need to know that.  _ “Y-yeah...”  _ He glanced at the shorter boy beside him, their gazes locking as Ouma stared at him intently with a slightly surprised expression. He quickly tore off his gaze, feeling even more embarrassed and wanting the floor to swallow him whole. Of all things, he didn’t expect such an honest reaction.

_ “I’ll be going now. See you guys later.”  _ The nurse excused herself, leaving the two of them alone once again.

Awkward silence stretched between them and he didn’t know how to escape this predicament at all.

_ “You were worried about me, Saihara-chan?”  _ Ouma finally asked with an innocent tone, staring at him once again.

_ “...Yeah...”  _ He answered, refusing to meet the other’s eyes. His skin burned even hotter as he felt Ouma’s gaze on him.

_ “Heeeeeh...That’s weird.”  _ He barely heard the other mutter under his breath before Ouma immediately changed the topic to nonsensicals about how scary nurses are.

They decided to go home after some time, the dark already creeping around as they stood in front of Team DR’s building. 

_ “Mmm~!”  _ Ouma stretched his arms above his head, letting out a content sigh afterwards.  _ “Thanks for the treat, Saihara-chan! I had fun.”  _ Ouma beamed up at him.

_ “Thank you too, Ouma-kun. I’m glad you agreed to meet up with me.”  _ Saihara gave a small smile to the boy in front of him.

_ “Come on, how can I say no to my  _ **_beloved_ ** _ Saihara-chan? You’re my favorite, you know.”  _ Ouma chuckled.  _ “Ah, but...giving out my number to Momota-chan without my permission was really annoying. So yep, you’re no longer my favorite.”  _ He huffed in disappointment.

_ “Eh? Th-that was...um...”  _ Saihara tried his best to come up with something, but found himself stumbling with his words instead. His shoulders slumped in defeat and embarrassment.  _ “Sorry...He asked for it...”  _ He trailed off into silence.

_ “And now you’re passing the blame to others? Geez, you’re so not trustworthy at all.”  _ Ouma glared at him with a pout.  _ “Anyway! I guess it’s goodbye now.” _

_ “Ah, right. Sorry. It was really nice seeing you again.” _

_ “What, did you miss me or something?”  _ Ouma gave out his signature snicker. The question caught the detective off-guard, but found himself chuckling.

_ “Can we--”  _ Saihara hesitated for a moment, finding the right words he wanted to say.  _ “Can I see you again?“ _

He didn’t miss the surprise that fleeted through the leader’s gaze.

_ “Sure. If fate wills it, then we’ll see each other again.” _ Ouma winked at him knowingly.

_ “What do you mean?” _

_ “If it’s meant to be, it will be, Saihara-chan.” _

It wasn’t a confirmation, but a vague rejection. To leave it to fate means he won’t respond even if he invited him. That he had no plans to do a repeat of today. Whatever Saihara was hoping to grow between them, Ouma thought otherwise. He might not be clear about it, but Saihara got the message just fine: he didn’t want anything to do with him. And it was crushing to know that fact.

_ “But hey, it wasn’t so bad seeing you.”  _ The dread he was feeling slowly faded as Ouma grinned at him, his own lips forming a smile on their own.  _ “Bye, bye.” _

_ “Ouma-kun--”  _ He called out, the shorter boy glancing back at him. He gripped the phone in his pocket. He wanted to show the other the image he saw on his phone, but thought otherwise. It’s probably not the best time.  _ “Take care.”  _ He opted instead.

Ouma just waved as he started walking away, his figure getting smaller and smaller as Saihara watched him from the distance. A part of him knew he should leave Ouma alone to go on with his life. He didn’t need him meddling with his affairs. In the first place, he made it clear that he didn’t trust him with any relevant information concerning himself. So really, he should just give up.

But he just couldn’t after all. He didn’t want to. Call him stubborn and all that, but he wanted to reach out and understand more about Ouma Kokichi. There was no particular reason for it and to be honest, he doesn’t get why he’s so fixated on him of all people. Deep inside him is an attraction he could no longer deny, and a sense of connection that might or might not be proven by a lone picture found in his phone. 

It was puzzling, but maybe if he continued down this path, he’ll eventually find out why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello~ Thought I'll try dishing out shorter chapters since it's more easy to read and definitely less stressful to write. So yeah, hopefully I can update more often now! Nevertheless, I appreciate all the support and I'm glad that some of you guys liked this! Please stay tuned for more <3
> 
> //Follow me on twitter @lunaillumina if you're looking for ndrv3 (more specifically Ouma) mutuals~ I also draw ndrv3 stuff from time to time ^^


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